Out of the Darkness
by SumEsseFuiFuturus
Summary: (Note: This story is set after Star Trek Into Darkness.) After serving together for two years aboard the Enterprise, Chekov's feelings for Kirk become unavoidable, and the Captain finds it difficult to keep a promise he has made to himself. The beginning of the first Five-Year mission leaves the crew not only discovering strange, new worlds, but also a very different side of Kirk.
1. Chapter 1 - Field Trip

Chapter 1 - Field Trip

Always running, always bouncing even, Ensign Pavel Chekov took a moment to just let the purple waters of the vast, beautiful, uncharted planet lap up between his toes, as the mission data tablet hung down at his sides, lightly grasped by his slender fingers. Standing on a beach of fine black sand, his uniform boots were safely up on a rocky outcropping that remained uneroded on the slopes of the volcanic caldera. His over-active brain had conjectured that it must be made of tougher stuff than that which was turned to sand, but even the Enterprise's famed Russian wiz kid couldn't be distracted by scientific curiosity long enough to resist the call of the ocean.

The Enterprise was the first starship ever to chart this star system, to which previously only a numerical cartographic designation X37-410 had been applied. No one had ever thought that it would have been of much interest, until Chekov had a second look at the long-range sensor scans. The system had three red dwarf stars, cold by any comparison to the sorts of stars that usually had planets. It was thought that nothing alive could be found, without the life-giving heat of a young sun.

Chekov's curiosity at why a system relatively close to Federation space wouldn't have at least one science mission devoted to it turned into a week-long obsession as he analyzed the data on the area, when he found a wobble in the orbit of one of the system's gas giants, a wobble big enough to be caused by another planet. A terrestrial planet orbiting a gas giant wasn't so very unusual, but this one was incredibly close.

The lagoon whose sands his toes were currently wiggling in was bordered by a placid purple sea all around, but the tranquility belied the incredibly precarious position the planet it sat on occupied. While the gas giant produced enough heat to keep the planet warm in a cold system, it also generated substantial radiation belts that would be very dangerous to anything living. How a perfect ocean planet could exist teeming with life in the heart of one of those belts was what they had been sent to find out.

"Prevoskhodnyy," he murmured, finding his own language more comfortable when alone, though he doubted that the language had been used very often to talk about tropical climes like the one he found himself in. The salt water felt good on his feet, after being aboard the ship for several weeks.

"Lose your boots already, Mister Chekov?" a familiar voice asked, from behind.

"Nyet, keptin! Zey're over—," Chekov started, turning around to grin at his captain, but cut himself on when he saw Kirk's choice of "uniform." The Russian's near-eidetic memory quickly captured a snapshot of the blue-eyed commanding officer in just swimming trunks, which had a floral pattern that looked distinctly non-regulation. His voice caught in his throat when he found himself focusing for far too long on the rugged, masculine physique that Kirk had built up from years of brawling, bar-fighting, and general adventuring. Compared to his own lean body, he felt quite small, quite young, when comparing himself to the Enterprise's captain. "Over zere, sir," he finished, gesturing to where they were safely resting with his Starfleet-issue golden socks.

"Is this the Russian version of the bathing suit?" Kirk asked, with his trademark smirk. "Less fur than I imagined."

"Da, keptin!" Chekov said, with a laugh. "I did not have time to wrestle bear and take his skin for the full costume, sir," he added, his amusement at the image showing in his grey eyes. "Is this the landing party gear of your people?" he asked, nodding to the swimming trunks.

"Iowans? Nah, not enough flannel," Kirk said, idly slapping his hands on his own flat stomach, with sort of a drumming motion. In that instant, Chekov decided that he did not look much like a captain, but felt a confusing knot of emotions in his stomach as he watched the way Kirk's muscles moved, and knew that his grey eyes were probably lingering too long. Since the incident with Kahn and Kirk's lengthy hospital stay, the crew had all become noticeably closer. While Chekov had always been completely loyal to his captain in terms of his Starfleet duties, he found himself developing much more complex feelings for him, feelings of the sort that he'd never really dealt with. "I figured I'd take Lieutenant Chambers up to the north data collection site," he added, before Chekov could conceive of a reply.

"Aye—," the young ensign replied, watching as one of his shipmates came down from the shuttle landing site with a long metal container in each hand — the components for some of the equipment they would be using. "Did everyone bring bathing suit?" he asked, finding his nose wrinkling, complaint breaking through the bright tone of his voice. Chambers was possibly the leggiest blond on the entire ship, and she was wearing a two-piece suit that was a little revealing, even for one of Kirk's paramours. At once, Chekov cursed her for dressing like that around Kirk, and himself for not thinking of it himself.

"Nae! Not me!" Scotty's voice said, as he too came down from the shuttle, shaking his head. "With all due respect, your captainship, but it would only take us a few hours to do this, and we could just have set up a transmitter to beam back data… we didn't need to bring tents, and survival crap, and…," the engineer said, trailing off as he nodded to the female lieutenant's swimming attire.

"Live a little, Scotty. Besides, if we get bad results, we made need to change the set-up, and then we'd have to make a second trip. It's better just to wait through the night and see what we get. I left my comm on the shuttle, so if you need anything, come find us," Kirk said, waving his hand dismissively, and turning to leave in the general direction of North with the blond. "Actually… maybe don't come find us," he said, grinning. "Keep Mister Chekov out of trouble," he added, as they went down the beach.

"Aye, like he's the one I need to keep out of trouble!" Scotty retorted, turning to look at the navigator, who was finding himself a little more annoyed than the engineer by the situation. He stared at Kirk and Chambers for a moment, frowning at the idea of what they would probably do in the sand. His stomach twisted into another knot when he imagined what he'd want to do with Kirk in the sand, were he in Chambers' place.

It would start with playful wrestling in the surf; they would roll around in the ocean together, until grapples became embraces, and brushes became hard kisses. Kirk would pin him down to the sand; yes, he would be on top, protective and in charge like always, and then—

"—Are you listening to me, laddy?" Scotty's voice said, interrupting the rest of that thought. Chekov was grateful for the glass data tablet he was holding, as he surreptitiously lowered it to conceal the growing result of his thoughts in his pants, thoughts of mixed hero worship and puppy love.

"Yes, sir," Chekov said, nodding excitedly. He paused. "No, sir," he admitted, blush spreading across his alabaster cheeks. "Sorry. Isn't Chambers the ship's historian?"

"I think you'd be right on that one; no tellin' how he got that one past the Vulcan," Scott replied, looking at Chekov for a moment; the boy could feel the older man's question, but he willed the engineer not to ask why he was still stuck on Kirk's girlfriend of the day. "I was sayin' that we should get up the side of that volcano and get the central relay cluster installed; I'd rather not be doin' that in the heat of the day," the engineer said, referring to the approaching zenith of the planet's dominant sun.

Chekov had observed that Scott was perhaps even less a fan of away missions than Chekov generally was; they both preferred nice, climate controlled spaces like starships and Starfleet Academy. They both had very fair complexions, that he wagered would burn very easily. With that being said, even Chekov liked occasionally getting off of the ship; Scott would likely be happy never setting foot outside of his engine room.

In a lot of ways, Chekov was attracted to Scotty; he was intelligent, funny, and attractive, but the young Russian had never gotten those same feelings of adoration that he found himself feeling for Kirk, for Scott. While Scotty was not the sort of engineer to follow every rule, he was still a pretty conservative officer, not like their captain. Kirk was daring, reckless even, and absolutely confident in himself, and that's what drew Chekov to him.

"Aye, commander," the curly-haired ensign replied, happy to have a task, happy to have something to focus his overactive mind on other than imagining what being a notch in Kirk's bedpost would be like.

"And watch your step, when we get up there. The captain'd have my hide if his golden boy fell off a cliff or drowned or something," Scotty replied, shaking his head as he began walking back up to the shuttle.

"Golden boy?" Chekov repeated to himself, thoughts about work vanishing. He'd been given a lot of nicknames aboard the Enterprise; most of them related to his age and his prodigious intelligence, but that was a new one. He briefly considered that Scott meant it in the same way as most of the others — good at his job, but very young. That part of his brain quickly shut off, though, as he found himself re-imagining being with Kirk on the beach.

With sand all over them, Chekov would throw his lithe arms around Kirk's strong neck, and wrap his long legs around the captain's trim waist, as they kissed. They would stay on the beach all day, until he really was his golden boy, alabaster skin bronzed to match Kirk's. His favorite part of his new nick-name, though, was not about hue, but about possession; he got a tingly sensation in his heart when he thought about being his.

"Shit," Chekov muttered, to himself, finding himself very hard in his pants as he thought about that. "Shit," he repeated, as he willed it to go away, but this took several moments. The young man found many beings attractive, and knew that Kirk was much-desired by many people, but he had not seriously considered him in that way, until the start of their long mission.

Chekov had saved Kirk's life twice, directly. Once with the transporter, and once by grabbing his hand to stop him from plummeting to the bottom of the engineering hull; once was a feat of mental brilliance, and the other a feat of physical impossibility. Kirk, though, had saved Chekov many more times, and had even been willing to sacrifice his own life to save the lives of the Enterprise crew. Reckless confidence had been refined into heroism, and that amplified his confidence, his rugged good looks, and his charm work even better on Chekov, and he had found himself quietly falling for him ever since.

"He likes women," Chekov reminded himself, as he climbed the ridge. He was sure that he personally liked both, or possibly just men, but he'd never actually been in a position to test either theory, and was having a hard time conceiving of what it would even be like to be with Kirk (beyond the vivid idea of rolling around with him, being his plaything on the beach), but it was still very hard to stop himself from thinking about it. "Women prettier than me," he muttered, a pang of sadness hitting him right in the chest.

"Forgetting something, lad?" Scott asked, when he got up to the shuttle.

"Oh, moi botinki!" Chekov replied, dashing back down to the beach to get them, kicking up sand as he went back down the shallow embankment. He snatched them and then returned to the shuttle, with blush that had much more to do with embarrassment than exertion. Scott and a pair of engineers were already getting all the equipment together for their hike. The skinny Ensign dashed into the shuttle to retrieve a towel from his duffel bag, before wiping his feet of sand and salt water, and carefully re-encasing them in boots.

As he laced his boots, he looked at his own arms and legs and thought about Kirk again. While he had very tight muscles and a very fast metabolism, Kirk had him beat on bulk and raw strength, by far. He imagined what it would be like to hold on to his biceps, as they—

"Chekov!" Scott complained, from the foot of the shuttle ramp.

"Coming!" Chekov replied, as he jammed himself into his boots, and then exited. He blushed as he tried to adjust his growing bulge, while bending over to sling an equipment pack over his shoulder, and then to pick up another case.

"Not many people on a starship would think to look at a spacial anomaly from the ground. Very imaginative, lad," Scott remarked, as he settled his own pack. "Alright, let's go so we can get back," he said, looking at the team, and then leading the way towards the interior of the island. Chekov couldn't help but smile at having his idea praised, though he guessed that such a solution would eventually have been found, even if he weren't around.

"Let's just hope it works, yes?" the young Russian remarked, as he adjusted his pack.

"You're the math prodigy; I'm sure it will work, kid," one of the other ensigns said, flashing him a very bright smile. Chekov took a moment to study him; he certainly did not enjoy being called 'kid' by someone, who was at most three or four years older than himself.

Annoyance briefly gave way to an examination of the engineer's physique, made easy by the jumpsuits they were both wearing: Ensign Peterson was taller than either him or Kirk, and appeared to have an even more muscular form, the kind of body you'd be more likely to associate with a security officer than an engineer. Chekov liked the view, but he also didn't find himself getting the same butterflies he had from observing Kirk's shirtless chest, probably because the deferred annoyance had returned.

"There is an old Russian saying: the proof is in the pudding," Chekov retorted. For about ten minutes, they walked on gradually-sloping ground, and the terrain began to become less sandy and more rocky. Eventually, it was clear that they were at the base of a volcanic mountain. "We climb?" he said, when they got to the beginning of a much steeper area of rock.

"Oh, aye. We climb," Scott replied, with a definite sigh. "How I wish we could use the transporter for this. Damn radiation," he grumbled, as they started their long assent.

* * *

As Chekov climbed the volcano at the center of the island, Kirk was walking down the beach with a beautiful woman. Though she was indeed a historian, Kirk had managed to get her assigned to the landing party. After a steamy session in the ship's library, he wanted to try something a little more tropical. They chatted as they walked, but he wasn't really interested in what she was talking about; something about an obscure period in Andorian history that he knew nothing about. Apart from Earth's history and classics, he didn't know very much about that sort of thing. It wasn't that he wouldn't have liked to listen to her, but he found her voice to be incredibly dull, and her stories to be rambling and sometimes incoherent to the point that he doubted her credentials.

Lieutenant Chamber's academic credentials, however, were not what drew him to her. In some respects, they were quite similar; both had reputations for being quite… accomplished in the field of romance, with many, many previous partners, and few hang-ups about trying to actually box things like that into a relationship. He didn't think it would last, as it never lasted for him, but she was at least fun to mess around with under Spock's nose, who explicitly disapproved of the Captain sleeping his way through the prettiest members of his science department.

The sensation of warm, black sand on his feet was nice as they walked, but he found his mind drifting to someone other than the well-endowed woman walking next to him. A smile came to his face as Pavel Chekov entered his mind, with his apparent aversion to showing any skin at all on the beach. While Kirk generally found himself more attracted to women, he'd long since noticed Chekov's charms. Who wouldn't notice those adorable curls, immaculate alabaster skin, and perfect rear end, if it was sitting just a few meters in front of him on the bridge all day? As nice as it was to have eye candy at the navigation console, he had sworn himself never to act on that initial, physical attraction to the young man.

Even though he was really not that much older than Chekov, he was the captain and he'd always felt that it would be somehow taking advantage to even suggest something romantic, in a way that sleeping with people in other departments never registered with him. More importantly, he just couldn't imagine someone as sweet and as innocent as his navigator ending up with a man like James T. Kirk, a man who had slept with over 130 women in his short life. In fact, he wanted to make sure that never happened; whether it was fraternal or simply captainly, he felt an intense draw to protect the young man from harm, even if that meant keeping his hands to himself.

That, however, had begun to become a more difficult promise to live by. After Kahn's attack, Chekov had visited the hospital nearly every day, with the rest of the crew. He never actually came alone, often with Sulu, and sometimes with Uhurua or Scotty, but it had given them the chance to get to know each other. As captain, he knew how brilliant the young Russian was, and everyone knew how sweet he was, but it was in the young man's ridiculous stories about Russian innovations and his naive take on the world that really endeared him to him. More than that, though: Chekov made him laugh and made him think, whereas Chambers never did.

* * *

The other team carefully moved the equipment up the side of the volcano, as Chekov monitored their position with a tricorder. After about two hours of climbing, they had everything in position. It wasn't complicated to assemble the sensor pallet, as they'd broken it down into just three distinct parts. It whirred to life, waiting for input from the subsidiary stations that the rest of the landing party was installing across the island.

It really was an ingenious plan, even for Chekov. Instead of risking the Enterprise on a tedious scanning mission in the radiation belt, the spectrometers and radiation equipment would be pointed up at the planet's atmosphere, and left to collect data for a few weeks, while they moved on to another system. He couldn't help but grin, as he looked out over the island, and the surrounding amethyst seas.

"Kirk to Scott," came suddenly from Scotty's communicator, shaking Chekov out of his reverie. He was quite proud of himself for avoiding thinking about the captain for almost three hours, but really he couldn't complain when his thoughts again came back to Kirk's body, and imagining what it must look like after a few hours on the beach, in the sun.

"Scott here."

"Chambers and I set up the subsidiary station, and are back at the shuttle. What's your status?""Primary station is online, captain. We're beginning our descent," Scott replied.

"Good. Kirk out," the captain said, before the call ended.

"Confirmed, commander. Ze captain's station is broadcasting. All towers are online, and ready," Chekov said, with a bright smile. "Also, I zink I have found an easier way down the wolcano," he added, holding up his tricorder.

"By all means, then, lead away. I could do with a nap," Scott replied.

"Aye, commander," Chekov said, before leading the way. It was easier with their packs empty, but it was still slow going until they got to the young Russian's shortcut. "I believe zis is ze result of a collapse of a lava enscarpment," he explained, pointing out a ramp of loose rocks that was piled against a sheer cliff; it was clear that the black volcanic glass had fractured in some sort of violent calamity, but it looked stable enough for the moment.

"Looks safe enough," Scotty consented, as he too looked at his tricorder readings. "Be careful, though. This rock is loose, and it's still pretty steep…," he said, but Chekov was already on the way down. Being someone that could barely stand to be still, it was nice to be able to go at something closer to his normal pace. For quite a while, the team managed to navigate their way down the loose slopes, until their navigator forgot to look at his tricorder.

As the terrain got steeper, so too did Chekov's pace get swifter. It was quite exhilirating to run down the mountain, needing the speed to keep balanced, but it became significantly less enjoyable when he missed a step, and went sailing over a sheer face, landing on his back on the next landing.

"Chekov!" Scott shouted, as the team made their way to him. "What in the bloody hell were you thinking?!" he shouted, a look of shock on his face as he looked down at him; the Russian could tell that he'd fallen at least 4 or 5 meters, and his back was screaming in pain. "Don't move. We'll be down in a minute, laddy," Scott added.

Chekov did not attempt to protest, but took a moment to collect himself. He sat up unsteadily, relieved to feel nothing broken, but when he reached up to touch his face, he a rush of panic hit him. Instead of dry skin, his fingers were wet with blood. "Shit," Ensign Peterson muttered, skidding to a halt and kneeling down to look at him. "Does it hurt?"

"Back, yes. Face, not yet," Chekov replied. "Now," he added, after only a few seconds, when the searing pain of having been cut by volcanic glass hit him. "Not a good idea, my plan," he added, wiping blood off of his face with the yellow fabric of his cuff.

Scott reached into his bag and retrieved a handkerchief. "Hold this over it, until we can get you back down to the medkit in the shuttle," he said, looking him over. "I thought I told you to be careful."

"Zank you," Chekov said, before standing up. Another jolt of pain resounded through his back, but it wasn't so bad that he couldn't walk. "Wery, wery stupid," he added. "Please do not tell Keptin Kirk?"

"He's gonna notice that huge gash on your face."

"Let's hope he is not looking at me, zen," Chekov responded. "Shall we try again?"

* * *

When the team that went up the mountain managed to get back to the shuttle, the rest of landing party had already set up the tents in a circle around a fire pit made of volcanic stones. Kirk was in the middle, directing traffic, and Scott was most surprised to see that he had his full uniform back on. He also noticed that Lieutenant Chambers seemed to be sulking in the shuttle, looking over her data tablet with occasional looks of disdain; maybe their date hadn't gone so very well?

"Ah, Mister Scott!" Kirk said, grinning as he walked over. "How do you like our set-up?" he asked. Scott began to answer, but was swiftly interrupted. "What happened to Chekov?" he asked, in a tone of very real concern as he walked over to the curly-haired Russian.

"Oh, just a little scrape," Scott said, trying to sound dismissive; Chekov gave him a grateful look as Kirk got closer.

"Uh huh. This is just a scrape, and he's the Czar of All the Russias," Kirk retorted, taking the handkerchief from him, and looking into his grey eyes for a moment for the truth.

"I went a little too fast down ze mountain, keptin," Chekov admitted, after only a half second of eye contact, and quickly moved his gaze down to his boots. "I underestimated ze terrain," he added. "I was leading, and I take full responsibility," he added, as if he had committed some seriously grave crime.

"It really wasn't that major, captain. He's just being hard on himself," Scott said, patting Chekov on the shoulder.

"Let's get you patched up, Mister Chekov," Kirk said, looking between his navigator and engineer, apparently deciding to drop the subject. Scott was somewhat surprised by what happened next. Instead of calling one of the scientists over, who definitely had medical training, he retrieved the medkit himself and sat the young Russian down on a packing crate.

The brown-haired captain retrieved a vial of an antiseptic, applying some to the young man's cut, and quickly apologizing for the pain that it caused. He had, apparently, been paying attention all the times that McCoy had patched him up after his various adventures. Scott attempted to busy himself with helping to set up another tent, but couldn't help but glance over at them out of curiosity.

Kirk made quite certain that the wound was clean, before applying a bandage carefully to Chekov's face, with a lot more finesse and tenderness than the engineer had ever seen from the gruff ship's surgeon. He didn't know exactly what to read into it, but for five minutes he saw a captain completely focused on his navigator, and nothing else in the whole universe.

* * *

A few hours later, the entire away team was at the campsite, alongside their landed shuttle. It looked an awful lot like normal camping trip, except for the beeping and blinking pieces of equipment laid out next to the shuttle. No one had attempted to seriously debate him on his decision to spend the night, but the Enterprise was only two hours away by shuttle; they could have eaten in the mess, instead of suffering through ready-prepared meals, and slept in their own beds, instead of in Starfleet-issue sleeping bags, but Captain Kirk always got what he wanted.

"You know, marshmallow is Russian inwention," Chekov declared, from his position on a supply crate next to Kirk, as he brandished his blackened candy on a stick to the rest of the away team. "It was fawored food of czars for many centuries, long before it was discovered by the West."

"Actually, it's an Egyptian invention, from about three-thousand years before there was ever a Russia," the leggy Lieutenant Chambers said from across the circle, while the rest of the team laughed at Chekov's story, confirming herself as the Ship's Historian. Chekov glared, in a way that was very unusual for his normal, bubbly self. He could see her through the licking tongues of fire, and imagined her as quite the demonic figure in that instant.

"Lies fabricated by anti-Russian conspirators," Chekov declared, with a slight huff of disdain, before eating his marshmallow.

"No, really-," Chambers started, but Kirk held up his hand.

"I like his version better," Kirk said, putting his arm around the young Russian's shoulders for a half-second, half-hug. "This little genius just saved the Enterprise a heck of a lot of trouble mapping this system; he's entitled to a little creative anachronism," the captain declared, releasing the hug and grabbing another marshmallow.

"Da," Chekov replied, trying to sound pleased with himself. That wasn't particularly difficult, either, as a wave of happiness washed over him, both from being validated and from that short physical contact. What really made him smile, though, was getting in an argument with the Captain's girlfriend-of-the-moment and winning.

"I'll give marshmallows to the Russians, lad, but fire… fire's a Scottish invention!" Commander Scott said, earning the laughs of the entire team. "Oh, and whiskey."

* * *

As the evening wore on, the fire sunk low in their makeshift firepit. While most of the team had decided to go to bed, James Kirk was still awake, chatting with his navigator, Pavel Chekov. Lieutenant Chambers had long since gone to her own tent, steering a wide berth around Kirk, after he pissed her off by expecting her to actually help him set up the relay tower, and he had to say he preferred the Russian's company.

Kirk doubted seriously that the navigator ever really slept as it got later and later; he was always so animated, so energetic about everything that happened around him. At first, it'd been a little annoying, but the longer they served together, the more endearing Kirk found his refreshing enthusiasm. As tired as he was, he'd resolved to stay up as long as Chekov, to try to find out a little more about him.

More importantly than just being enthusiastic, Chekov often found a way of making Kirk smile. As they chatted, though, Kirk realized that the two of them had only rarely had one-on-one interactions. They'd met a few times at the academy, but on the Enterprise, Sulu was more often Chekov's go-to companion for off-duty time, and apart from that he'd noticed that Chekov had spent most of his time alone. In the last year, the senior staff had gotten closer, but he'd never really had that many one-on-one interactions with the younger man.

"So, second-youngest cadet… youngest Human cadet in the history of Starfleet. Chief Navigator of the Federation flagship at 17… You must be pretty cut-throat Mister Chekov," Kirk teased, reclining a little with his hands behind him on the edge of the crate.

"Nyet, sir!" Chekov replied immediately, his eyes growing much wider than they already were, before he looked away bashfully. "I am just… good at doing homework," he said, with a nod.

"That you are," Kirk replied, with a nod; he had first-hand experience with that, in several ways. Many of Chekov's pieces of advice had found their way into his "patch" that allowed him to win the Kobayashi Maru scenario, and his mathematical brilliance had saved him from falling to death on Vulcan, and then got them past Nero's defenses. "But what's the real story? How'd you do it?"

"Surely this was in my file, sir," Chekov replied, with a modest tinge of blush. His tone was quiet, and his grey eyes were looking down at his feet as he spoke. Contrary to Kirk, the Ensign never liked to talk about himself or his accomplishments, which only made Kirk want to press him more.

"I haven't read your file. Well, not the pre-service part," Kirk said. "I'd like to learn that sort of stuff on my own."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Want to take a walk?" he offered, gesturing towards the sea, knowing that the ensign might not want his colleagues to overhear him talk about himself, if they were still awake. Chekov nodded, and so they began to stroll down through the dunes and to the beach. The gas giant was big and bright in the sky, behind the sea wreathed in stars. "So, what's your story?" he asked, after a few minutes of just listening to the sounds of the ocean.

"Well… I lived wiz my babushka in St. Petersburg until I was 14, and then I joined Starfleet," Chekov replied, softly. He was toying with the stick that he'd been using to toast marshmallows. "I'm… good wiz numbers, and computers, and so zey placed me in ze navigation program… and zen I met you," he continued, looking at Kirk, as if the story was complete. The blond-haired captain was taken aback at that last statement; of the four things he was going to say about himself, Chekov was going to count knowing him as one?

"Your babushka?"

"My grandmozer," Chekov translated, the pink on his cheeks just visible; Kirk thought that sometimes the younger man didn't realize when he'd switched back to his native language. His English was fine, when he was really trying, but off-duty it was more of a milieus of English and Russian.

"What happened to your parents?" Kirk asked, quietly.

"My mozer died… my dad wasn't wery interested in me," Chekov replied; Kirk could see tears welling up in the corners of his slate-colored eyes, and so reached over to squeeze his shoulder.

"You probably know my dad was killed on the Kelvin, but my mom was also away a lot, so I was with my step-dad most of the time… It's tough," the captain said, feeling compelled to reassure him. Whenever he looked at Chekov, he saw many things. He saw a genius rivaling even Spock's brilliance. He saw a young, ambitious but very modest officer. He also saw a vulnerable, innocent young man, who wasn't even out of his teenage years yet. Primarily, though, and as much as he tried to avoid thinking about it, he saw a beautiful, curly-haired boy that didn't know he had bedroom eyes. All of these things made him feel very protective of him, in a way that he wasn't about his other crew members. "We don't have to talk about it, I was just curious," he added.

"Da. I know, keptin," Chekov replied, giving him a small smile, as Kirk removed his hand. "I lowe… love my grandmozer wery much; she was wery nice to me," the young Russian said, causing his captain to grin at the way he was negotiating his English consonants. Some people got frustrated with his accent, but Kirk loved the way it sounded. "I did not like school in St. Petersburg. People were not wery nice to me," he added.

"Why not?"

"I was small. And too fast at math."

"They bullied you because you were smart? That's messed up," Kirk responded. "Was it better at the Academy?"

"Da. For the most part. Is much better now on Enterprise."

"It better be all the way better," Kirk responded, in a dark tone.

"It is nice not to be… scared, yes," Chekov agreed. "You should not worry, keptin, I can take care of myself," he added, trying to sound dismissive. Kirk grinned in response, looking back over to the fire.

"I'm sure you can, Mister Chekov. It's my job to take care of you, though. You're the only golden Russian wizkid I've got," the captain said. He couldn't see the young man's skin, anymore, as the fire got lower, but he was sure that he'd made the ensign blush. "Speaking of that, you scared the crap out of me when you came back to camp all bloody," he added, reaching over to tug emphatically at the bloody corner of Chekov's uniform sleeve.

"A… minor misstep."

"Yeah, right. Don't scare me like that."

"Me?! Keptin, I have had to stop you from… plummeting to death on two separate occasions. Zat is scaring me," Chekov replied, stopping in his tracks to energetically defend himself. He paused, and his tone got more somber. "And zen… the warp reactor. Do not be lecturing me about scaring anyone, Mister Keptin," the navigator said, poking him in the chest with his index finger.

"Mister Keptin?" Kirk said, matching Chekov's inflection with delight at Chekov's sudden fire and adorable malapropism. They'd never really talked about those two instances of Chekov's life-saving prowess, or Kirk's sacrifice in engineering, and Kirk wasn't eager to have that conversation.

"Do not be changing subject," Chekov said; there was just enough light to see his eyes, and they were quite insistent. "What would Enterprise do without her you? I was Chief Engineer. Should have been me," he said, in a more resolute, serious tone than Kirk had ever heard from him.

"No, Pavel. I could have never sent anyone up in that reactor. Especially not you," Kirk replied, calmly.

"Why especially not me? I could have done it. I'm faster zan you," Chekov pressed, growing bolder.

"Yeah, I bet you could have done it. That's not the point, though. I've gotta protect my crew. And especially you because you've got the brightest future of any of us. You're a freakin' genius at 18. You'll probably make Admiral by the time your my age," Kirk said, a lie by omission, an omission of the fact that his attraction, as much as he refused to act on it, made him a little irrational with respect to command decisions involving the sweet Russian.

"Oh. Zat is… nice of you to say, keptin," Chekov replied. "Vewy nice," he added. "It really was terrifying, zough. Absolutely terrifying, when we thought you were… gone."

Smiling at Chekov, he looked up at the stars, and then sat down in the sand. He patted the area next to him, and the young man quickly joined him. He looked up again, just examining the stars for a moment before speaking again. "'I have loved the stars too much to be fearful of the night,'" he recited.

"I know zat. It is from 'The Old Astronomer to his Pupil.' Is wery beautiful," Chekov said, looking at him with incredible surprise. Kirk was used to that reaction; few people believed that he had the capacity to read at all, let alone read poetry.

"Something changed in me when I saw Pike die," Kirk said, slowly. He didn't like talking about it, but he wanted to make Chekov understand why it had to be Kirk that went up inside the reactor. "I would do anything for my crew, even die, and not be afraid, because I know it's what he would have done, and that's that. I knew it would work out, because I have the best crew in the whole fleet, my own team of super stars," he concluded, reaching over to give Chekov's shoulder another squeeze.

"You know zat ze feeling is totally mutual, right, keptin?"

"Jim, Pavel. Call me Jim. And, yes, I do," Kirk said.

"I do not zink I can do zat, sir, but I will try," Chekov responded, grinning at him, and then turning his gaze up towards the stars.

"Where's Sol?"

"What time is it?" Chekov asked, in response.

"0030 hours, ship time," Kirk said, sliding his wrist chronometer down out of his uniform sleeve.

"Zen, it's really more like 0355 for zis planet, so… based on ze position of the gas giant, zere, next to zat cluster of five stars!" Chekov said, making faces that indicated he was doing some pretty complicated math, math Kirk would never have been able to do without the ship's computer.

"Really? How do you do zat?" Kirk said, blushing when he realized that he was immitating him again. "That," he corrected.

"I do not know, keptin. It just… happens. I've always been good at math," Chekov replied.

They looked up at the tiny speck that the navigator knew to be Earth's sun, for a moment. "It looks so tiny," Kirk commented. "I'm glad we have you to help us find our way back," he added, before wondering if it sounded a little too sappy. "What else can we see from here?"

"Zat big blue one is Sirius; we are quite close to it, sir," Chekov said, starting his tour. For almost an hour, they sat in the sand, as Chekov pointed out interesting stars, while they traded stories about their service and lives before Starfleet. After a while, it became impossible for the young Russian to avoid yawning.

"Sounds like someone's getting sleepy."

"Yes, kept-Jim, but I am enjoying staying up so late," the ensign responded. Kirk couldn't help but chuckle, but he restrained himself from making a bedtime joke.

"I've enjoyed this, too, Pavel. We should do this more often," Kirk responded, with absolute sincerity, much to the ensign's apparent delight. He really wanted something even more personal than just spending an evening looking up at the stars, and getting to know him better had only made that feeling worse; when he looked at the young man's pale skin lit up by starlight, amazed at the wonders of the galaxy, it only enhanced his resolve to resist hitting on him. After so many failed romances, he didn't want to risk souring his wizkid on love forever; he could hardly protect him, if he broke his heart, as he was apt to do.

"I will attempt to find more mystery planets, zen," Chekov promised.

"Good. Let's head back," Kirk replied, standing up. He offered a hand down to Chekov, and then pulled the young man to his feet, amazed both by the strength of the Russian's grip (which had surprised him as they dangled from the catwalk in Engineering) and by his relative lightness.

When they got back to camp, the fire had gone out completely, with only embers smoldering in the sand. All of the tents were dark and zipped up, leaving only the one that they'd set up for him.

"Let's hit the hay. Looks like you're bunkin' with me," Kirk said, grabbing a bedroll from the foot of the shuttle ramp and crawling into the tent. He turned on the small light inside it, and began spreading out his bedding. Chekov followed after a moment, and did the same.

"I did not bring pizhama," the ensign noted. "Pajamas, I think," he translated, before Kirk could ask.

"Pajamas? What are you, eight? Just strip to your skivvies and go to sleep. It's like 30 degrees," Kirk said, before really thinking about that. "And that wasn't an order. Because it'd be weird to order my 19 year-old navigator to strip," he added, with a bit of a chuckle.

"Da," Chekov agreed, simply. He turned around when Kirk began pulling his shirt off.

"Shy?"

"Da."

"Well, you shouldn't be," Kirk said, immediately kicking himself for saying something like that, as he reached up to turn off the light, pulling off his uniform pants and then laying down on top of the Starfleet-issue sleeping bag. It was much too hot to crawl into it. "Better?" he asked, referring to the darkness.

"Da. Zank-you, keptin," Chekov replied, before there was rustling of clothes. Kirk could see him silhouetted against the thin wall of the tent, but averted his eyes for both their sakes. He wanted to look, but knew that it wouldn't be a good idea to tempt himself. "Spokoynoy nochi."

"Good night, Pavel."

* * *

It took Chekov almost an hour to fall asleep next to Kirk, after their conversation. Being around the handsome captain always made him feel nervous, but it was still nice to get to have a private conversation with him. He kept focusing on the way the captain had touched his shoulder, when he was about to try, even though he knew he shouldn't. Thinking about that, he fell into a light slumber, and then finally into a sound sleep.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Chekov was burning up, and felt constricted. He woke up blearily, squirming until he realized why he couldn't roll over; he was being hugged tightly from behind. He stopped trying to move immediately, not wanting it to stop, and wondering what was going on. The skinny Russian was about to say something, when he heard a noise coming from Kirk; it wasn't a snore, but it was the sort of noise that meant he was asleep. He felt one of the captain's hands on his abs and the other on his chest, but they weren't moving.

"He thinks I'm Chambers," Chekov thought, freezing up for a moment. He'd never been in that sort of situation, never been in any sort of romantic pairing, and he didn't know what to do at first. Eventually, instincts took over, and he nuzzled himself back up against his captain, pushing himself into the embrace. In his sleep Kirk squeezed him tighter, and buried his face further into the Russian's curly locks. The younger man attempted to surpress a gasp of surprise and pleasure, but failed completely. He'd never been held like that before, and he immediately loved it, even if he suspected it was just a more friendly equivalent of sleep walking. Whatever it was, he'd certainly take it. "Please don't wake up and hate me," Chekov murmured.

* * *

Kirk did wake up in the morning, but he certainly didn't hate the slender ensign. Quite the contrary. Finding himself meshed incredibly comfortably with the young man, he felt both a strong tinge of guilt, and a definite desire to stay exactly where he was. From that vantage point, his decision not to hit on his navigator didn't seem like such a sound plan; it certainly felt nice, so what could the harm be, really? He couldn't help himself from planting a peck of a kiss behind Chekov's ear, on the soft skin of his neck, before quickly extricating himself from the embrace. Still asleep, Chekov's limbs were tangled with his own, and it was quite difficult to get up without waking him. He dressed in a flash and got out of the tent.

No one else was awake yet, and he went over to sit on the shuttle's engine nacelle for a moment. "Fuck. I promised I wouldn't do that. I can't even trust myself in my sleep," he muttered to himself, wishing that his attraction for such an innocent creature wasn't directly incompatible with his tendencies towards not being there in the morning.

After about half an hour worrying that Chekov might have realized that he was being spooned, Scotty emerged from his tent with a data tablet, reading over the readings from the sensors. "Looks like Chekov's idea worked, sir! This data's pretty impressive," he said, handing it to him.

"Great, Scotty. Let's get packed up and go over it on the ship," he said, taking the tablet for a moment, realizing that he didn't understand it, and then handing it back. He stood up, and used his fingers to whistle for the crew's attention, a trick he had learned from Captain Pike.

It took them about half an hour to get everything packed up, once the team was awake. They would leave the scientific equipment behind to collect data for a few months, mostly to save the trip back up the mountain. After avoiding him successfully for all of the packing, Kirk found himself sitting at the helm of the shuttle, next to Chekov at the co-pilot's station.

"Good job, Chekov, with this sensor set-up. I'm proud of you," Kirk said, with a genuine smile, as the engines powered up.

"Zank you for ze opportunity, sir," Chekov replied, modestly, as the shuttle took off, leaving that perfect ocean world behind, and beginning the journey back to Enterprise.

* * *

Chekov found himself thinking about Kirk constantly, when they boarded the ship. Thankfully, he was allowed to retreat to his navigation lab to prepare a report for Mister Spock, and not sit on the bridge so close to Kirk. He'd never even considered the possibility that Kirk might reciprocate his puppy love, but the night before had given him new hope. It wasn't the spooning; he was smart enough to know that many people rolled around in their sleep, and it was probably just accidental contact, it was the conversation they'd had under the stars, and the way Kirk had been so attentive to his cut.

The young Ensign wanted to spend more time with him, like that. He wanted to have what Uhura and Spock had, but he had no idea how to get it. That, he resolved, was something that he would change. The only problem was figuring out which of his shipmates to ask for help.


	2. Chapter 2 - Enterprising Young Men

In the days that followed the Enterprise's trip to that world of violet-hued seas and azure skies, business went as usual. The ship completed its survey of that small star system, and was now on course for a system a few light-years away, that they thought might contain a pre-industrial civilization. Spirits were high, and the crew had the good sense not to make any jokes about volcanoes around the captain. As exciting as it was to be fulfilling Starfleet's mission to find strange, new life, Pavel Chekov was incredibly distracted. Every waking moment, he had thought about James T. Kirk and the time they'd shared on the beach, and he was no closer to figuring out how to make it happen again.

For Chekov, every academic discipline (except perhaps English) came as second nature to him. Empirically, he was one of the smartest Humans in Starfleet, and he'd demonstrated proficiency at not only his chosen profession as a navigator, but as a transporter technician, scientist, and even Chief Engineer. With that being said, he was eighteen and he had never even been on one single date in his short life; the concept was frightening. The idea of screwing up the budding friendship he'd started with Kirk was terrifying. What if he wasn't interested? What if he was offended? How could he find out, without risking rejection?

Lieutenant Uhura noticed something was wrong, when Chekov entered the turbolift with her and Spock. It was just after lunch, and the second string bridge crew was on duty, so they were on their way to their various offices to catch up on paperwork. He seemed alright at first, as he gave both of them the big smile that they were used to, before punching in his destination — the navigation laboratory — on the turbolift console.

"Good morning!" he said, cheerfully. Uhura liked Chekov, a lot; he was definitely the most positive member of the whole crew.

"Hello, Pavel," she said, kindly.

"Ensign," Spock added.

When the Ensign asked, in Russian, whether or not Spock spoke the language, was when she began to get curious. "Vy govorite na russkom, Kommander Spok?" the young navigator asked, with a smile. The Vulcan clearly heard his own name, and turned, starting to answer, before Uhura interrupted.

"On ne vladeyet russkim yazykom, Pavel," she responded, confirming that the Vulcan scientist did not know Chekov's language.

"Khorosho. Ya nadeyalsya pogovorit' s vami, a ne byt' uslyshany. Mozhno mne pogovorit' s vami nayedine? V laboratorii navigatsii?" Chekov responded, in very fast Russian. It was almost too quick for Uhura to parse; Russian wasn't exactly one of her most-used languages, and she'd never actually spoken to Chekov in it. He was pleased that Spock couldn't hear them, and wanted to speak to her privately.

"Pochemu vy ne khotite, chtoby on nas slyshish'? Chto-to ne tak?" she asked, wondering why he didn't want Spock to overhear. Was he in trouble?

"Eto lichnoye. YA predpochel by pogovorit' s vami. Pozhaluysta?" Pavel responded, explaining that he just wanted to talk to her.

"Konechno," Uhura responded, agreeing mostly out of concern.

"Have I missed something?" Spock asked, finally speaking up.

"Chekov was explaining a problem with our link back to Starfleet Cartography," Uhura said, fibbing at least in front of the young Russian; she did not like lying to Spock, but she would explain later.

"Perhaps I could be of assist—," Spock started, but was interrupted by the intercom.

"Kirk to Spock."

"Spock here, captain," Spock replied, after pressing one of the buttons on the turbolift panel.

"Please join me in my quarters," the captain ordered.

"Yes, captain," Spock replied, pressing the button again to end the call.

* * *

The navigation laboratory was an impressive space aboard the Enterprise, with dozens of consoles tied into both the ship's own navigational sensors and Starfleet's extensive network of deep space probes, observatories, and computers. With pinpoint accuracy, Chekov could plot a course to any place in the known galaxy, with the information found there. What was most impressive, though, was a large holographic map of the cosmos that floated above the central work area, giving them a visual overview of how far they'd come from Earth.

"Zank you, lieutenant," Chekov said, quietly, as they sat down in a corner of the lab. Thankfully, no one else was on duty at the moment. "I have… questions," he said, looking down at his hands. "I hope I will not be wasting your time."

"Pavel, we're friends. Ask your questions," Uhura replied. Chekov smiled; she was always nice to him. Well, everyone was always nice to him aboard the Enterprise, but she was especially nice to him.

"How do you know if someone is interested in you?" he asked, after a moment.

"Oh!" Uhura responded, obviously surprised that it was that sort of question. "You're wanting advice on girls?" she asked.

Chekov blushed, and shook his head. "Not girls."

"Oh. Well, I guess the easiest way to tell that someone, well, likes you, is that they like spending time with you, and show an interest in your life… and the way they look at you…," she responded, looking at him.

"I zink he might be," Chekov said, thinking about that; their conversation on the beach certainly fit that pattern. "How do I know for sure? How do I get him to… tell me?" he pressed.

"The only way to know for sure is to ask," Uhura said; that was not the answer Chekov wanted.

"If I ask, and he says no… It would be bad for friendship," Chekov responded, quietly.

"I'm sure Sulu wouldn't—," the communications officer started.

"—Not Sulu," Chekov corrected. "We are just friends."

"Sorry," Uhura replied. "I'm sure whoever it is wouldn't be angry," she added.

"I do not zink he would be angry, I've just… never done anyzing like zat, before," he responded, running a hand through his curls and sitting back in the chair. "I just want him to like me," he said; even he realized, though, that it was a juvenile to same. "I must sound like idiot," he added.

"No, you don't. You shouldn't worry about getting him to like you, though. Just be yourself. That has to be enough," Uhura replied, giving his hand a squeeze. "I can't imagine anyone not liking you, though."

"Just be myself? Perhaps I can do zat," Chekov responded, thoughtfully. Who was he, though? His niche was being young and inexperienced. What would it take to figure out Kirk's true feelings? He had it! He'd ask the one person on the ship who was an absolute master of seduction: he would ask the captain himself what it would take to romance him.

* * *

"You asked to see me, Captain?" Spock asked, after stepping into the Captain's quarters. On the leading edge of the saucer section, the commanding officer's suite was quite spacious. Having been destroyed in the battle with the Vengeance, it had been rebuilt during the ship's long refit. By any standard, it was impressive, with as many rooms as a terrestrial apartment, complete with a master suite, two guest rooms, a living area, and a private dining room, as befit the captain of the largest ship in the fleet.

Kirk was sitting on a leather sofa in the living area, looking out the large windows into space. He turned and looked at the Vulcan, and then gestured for him to join him in the seating area. Spock remained standing, as was his custom, and observed the younger man. The captain was always the sort of man who wore his emotions on his sleeve, and it was clear that he was agitated about something.

"I have a problem, Spock," the human admitted.

"Perhaps you could clarify, captain?"

"Very funny, Spock," Kirk grumbled. "Sit," he said.

"Very well," the science officer replied, taking a seat across from his captain, and studying his face for a moment. "You are displeased with something," he guessed.

"That's surprisingly perceptive," Kirk responded, sighing and looking up at the ceiling. "I need romantic advice," he said, after a moment of silence. If Spock were capable of being surprised, that certainly would have surprised him. "I know. Weird, right?"

"Statistically, I have always considered you, among all of the crew, to be the least likely to need assistance in that particular area," Spock replied.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was a statement without value judgment attached to it, Captain," Spock replied.

"Right. Well, I'm kind of having a crisis, with this one. I am attracted to someone, but I don't think it would be appropriate to act on it," Kirk said, after another pause. This, too, would have been incredibly surprising to any other being.

"That demonstrates a remarkable level of maturity, in reference to your past behavioral trends," Spock declared, earning a definitely dark look from the blue-eyed captain. "Does this refer to your attraction to Mister Chekov?" he asked. Kirk's jaw dropped.

"How in the hell did you know that?" Kirk asked, not even bothering to deny it.

"I have been aware of it for some time; Humans are quite easy to read," Spock replied. "I had assumed that you were having some crisis with your sexuality, and that was the impetus for restraint," he added.

"And not the fact that he is a teenaged ensign under my direct command?" Kirk asked, surprised at that. "I'm not confused about my sexuality, Spock."

"No. I have observed you engage in romantic relationships with members of Starfleet on numerous occasions, both on and off the ship. I did not see this as the obstacle," Spock responded. "In relative terms, the age disparity is not extreme, and I believe Mister Chekov's intellectual maturity makes chronological age somewhat irrelevant in this circumstance," he further clarified.

"Intellectual maturity, maybe. He's still a kid, though," Kirk responded, shaking his head. "The 'impetus for restraint' is that Chekov's a member of my crew, he's my friend, and… You know me, Spock. You know how long my average romantic relationship lasts," the captain added.

"Approximately 1.13 days, by my last count," Spock supplied.

"Exactly," Kirk said, with a sigh.

"And you fear that you would engage in a similar pattern, with Chekov?"

"Yeah."

"I do not believe that would be true," Spock stated. "I believe that because you have spent so much time considering this possible outcome, it shows that you are willing to make changes to your behavior to avoid it," he concluded. "We have been aboard this ship for two years, now. May I ask what has elevated this from matter of course attraction to a crisis?"

"I got to know him better. I want to ask him out, but I don't want to hurt him," Kirk replied. "Hell, I do not even know if he's interested. I'm sure you disapprove, either way," the captain accused, looking at his first officer.

"Quite the contrary. I welcome anything that might give you some stability," Spock responded, mildly. "Tell me, why are you attracted to Lieutenant Chambers?"

"You know about that?"

"I was unsure; I am sure, now," Spock responded.

"Tricky bastard," Kirk grumbled. "She's a beautiful woman, with large breasts, who's not especially keen on 'taking it slow.' There's not a whole lot to it," he explained.

"And why are you attracted to Mister Chekov?"

"Do we have to go through this?"

"You asked for my advice, Captain. This exercise will illustrate my point."

"He's also beautiful, but he's a wunderkind. He's so intelligent, and sensitive… I like his accent…," Kirk said, sighing and trailing off. "He's so young, though."

"The characteristics you have described are dominantly emotional and intellectual reasons to be attracted to someone; your attraction to my historian is purely physical. I believe that this distinction is important, and will—," Spock started, but Kirk held up his hand.

"Spock, you're supposed to tell me to just keep my hands to myself and not date officers. What gives?" Kirk asked.

"I am dating an officer," Spock responded. "There is no specific regulation prohibiting it, if professional obligations do not influence romantic relationships and vice versa," he added. "This is most unlike you, captain. I have never observed this behavior from you, such concern for a potential romantic interest—"

"—Is completely warranted. Can you at least agree that it would be easier if I just distanced myself, and kept sleeping my way through your science officers," Kirk said, with a grin that even Spock could tell was forced.

"Easier on whom? And what if Chekov does reciprocate your feelings?"

"Then I have no idea."

* * *

Many captains chose to eat their meals in their own quarters, but Captain Kirk was young enough that he liked to be where the action was. He was never the sort of captain to distance himself from his crew. Although he was sitting alone at a table by the windows in the mess hall, he still liked the crew to see that he was just one of them. The mess hall doors parted to reveal Chekov, the curly-haired ensign that he'd been fixated on for the last several days. Kirk immediately became more fixated on his food, still not sure what to do after his conversation with Spock.

As much as he tried not to look, Kirk followed him with his eyes from the food slot, past Uhura's table, where the ensign received a smile from the communications officer, and then the young ensign surprised him. He went past Sulu's table as well, and stood in front of Kirk's own table, with his dinner tray.

"May I join you, keptin?" the young man said, with a bright smile. How could he say no to that?

"Sure," Kirk said, not needing to fake a smile, even with his conflict.

"Did you have a good day, sir?" Chekov asked, sitting down graciously and beginning to eat something Russian that he did not know the word for.

"No complaints. Spock mentioned you were having trouble with our link back to Starfleet Cartography?" he said, studying the Ensign for a moment.

"Yes, sir, but we have resolwed ze problem," Chekov responded, with a smile. "I was wondering if I might ask you a question, sir," he said, after they ate together for a few moments in silence.

"Shoot."

"Well, sir, I have noticed zat you are, well, popular with women. I wonder if you could tell me how you do that?" Chekov asked.

"You want advice on girls?" Kirk asked, with a sigh of mixed relief and disappointment; as much as he'd like to find Chekov some girl to date, he was severely let down to find out that he was straight. "The trick is being confident. Walk up to a woman, and lay down the cheesiest, dumbest pick-up line you can think of. If you say it with confidence, they'll laugh, and you've got your foot in the door," Kirk said, eliciting a little grin out of the navigator.

"So, somezing like 'I hawve lost my communication frequency. May I have yours?'" Chekov asked.

"Yes! Good," Kirk said, with a delighted laugh. "Where did you find that one?"

"I read a lot," Chekov responded simply. He toyed with his fork for a moment, and then looked at Kirk again. "So, how about it? May I have your comm frequency, Jim?" he said, with another adorable smile. This time there was direct eye contact, as the younger man continued to fidget with his silverware. Over the curly-haired navigator's shoulder, he could see Uhura smiling at them.

"Is this a prank?" Kirk asked, in a tone that was harsher than he intended. "Pavel Chekov is not hitting on me," he said, shaking his head. Pavel's jaw dropped, and he turned red all over, not expecting that reaction. "This was Uhura's idea wasn't it?" the captain suggested, wheels turning in his head. Of course. Uhura must have learned about his crush from Spock, or maybe just from the same voodoo mind-reading that Spock had used to find out in the first place.

"Yes, keptin," Chekov responded, quietly. He looked like he was about to say something, but bolted. Leaving behind his tray, he sprinted out of the mess hall, before Kirk could even get out one syllable of his name. The whole mess hall turned to see the spectacle, and Kirk felt Uhura's glare on him, before he even saw it.

"What did you do?!" she asked. "What did you say?!" she demanded, after stalking over to him, and sitting down where the young ensign had just been. "I should have guessed you were the one he liked."

"I didn't do anything. You're the one who sent him over here to make fun of me!" Kirk retorted.

"I did not!"

"He said you did," Kirk responded, though he was starting to see what had happened. "Oh, god," he said, running a hand through his own hair, and looking at her. "He was being serious?"

"Yes, captain, and whatever you said sent him out of here crying," Uhura responded, almost growling at him.

"Pavel Chekov is attracted to me?" Kirk repeated, falling down a little in his chair. "That's not fair."

"What the hell are you blabbering about?" the communications officer responded.

"Don't you think there might have been a reason I assumed it was a joke? Am I the sort of person who turns down a pretty face?" Kirk responded, frowning as he got closer to Uhura's face, his voice low. "I'm crazy about Chekov," he admitted. "He's about the most adorable thing I've ever seen, but I'm so wrong for him. Gallia could handle the way I date. Chekov couldn't. I wouldn't want to hurt him."

"That is… the most mature thing you've ever said…, sir," Uhura said, reluctantly. "That's not what you told him, though, is it?"

"No," Kirk responded, crossing his arms. "I didn't think he was being serious."

"Well, he was," Uhura replied, standing up. "Maybe if you're so crazy about him, you need to rethink this whole thing, or you need to tell him why. Either way, you've got to fix this," she said, looking at him for a moment.

"I know."

* * *

It was around midnight on the Enterprise when Kirk finally found Chekov in one of the ship's lounges; he'd given him a few hours to cool off, before starting the search. It was deserted except for the two of them, and the young navigator was sitting on a couch, looking out through the massive viewports at the stars zooming past the ship. Kirk debated with himself for a few seconds, before reaching over to the wall panel next to the door and using his command code to lock the door, so that no one could barge in on them.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Kirk asked, walking over and putting his hands on the back of the sofa, a few cushions down from where Chekov was sitting. He winced a little when the young man practically jumped out of his seat.

"I was just leaving," Chekov murmured.

"Please. I know you must hate me right now, but can I have five minutes?" Kirk said, looking down at the dark leather of the couch for a moment, finding himself surprised at his inability to look the ensign in the eyes.

"I don't hate you, keptin," the curly-haired navigator replied, sitting back down.

"Can I sit with you?"

"Da."

"I was an ass, today," Kirk said, sitting at the opposite end of the couch, and looking over at him. Chekov nodded, as he took a sip of something clear from a rocks glass, and then set it next to a bottle on the coffee table, before looking out at the stars with Chekov.

"It's not your fault, keptin. I should have… been more sure of my chances, before…," Chekov started, but he trailed off.

"Please. Jim," Kirk said. "It's not your fault at all," he added.

"That's nice to say, but clearly I made a big mistake… Enough for you to laugh, as if it were joke," the young man replied, frowning, and reaching to take another sip. "Who could take nineteen year-old ensign seriously?"

"Please let me explain," Kirk pleaded. Chekov looked taken aback by the sudden change in tone, and so nodded. "I hoped it was a joke. I really did. I didn't want to believe I was laughing at you. Two years ago, I promised myself that I'd never get involved with you," he started. "I'm so wrong for you, and I thought things were going well, since you never seemed to be interested, but then…" the captain tried, but then couldn't quite wrap his mind around it.

"I do not understand. Why make promise like zat? What… did I do?" Chekov asked, sounding hurt. "To be wrong?"

"Pavel, no," Kirk said, shaking his head. "It's hard to explain. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm the one who's wrong. When I first saw you, I thought you were gorgeous, and then I found out that you're the smartest person without pointy ears in the whole fleet, and probably the sweetest one, too," the blond said, wringing his hands as he spoke; his heart was pounding. He'd never been that nervous to talk to any sort of romantic interest in his whole life, and yet this Russian teenager had him stumbling over his words.

"You… Wait, what?" Chekov said, mouth agape.

"I really wanted to hook up with you, for like a month. Like, seriously," Kirk said, getting more animated with the story. "But, whenever I thought about it… I just couldn't imagine a guy like you with someone like me."

"Because I am not pretty enough? Too young?" Chekov tried to guess.

"No. That's just it. I'm totally crazy about you," Kirk said, scooting closer and looking into Chekov's grey eyes. "I just, um, don't have a good track record with romance. I tend to, uh, sleep with people, and then not stick around. I didn't trust myself not to do that to you. I didn't want to hurt you, somehow."

"You wouldn't hurt me, not ever," Chekov responded, after taking a moment to think about that. "But I am adult. I do not need you to be trying to protect me all of ze time. I do not like it when ze crew treats me like child," he added, with a frown, speaking quickly.

"You're the navigator of the Federation's flagship, and the only eighteen year-old I would trust with my ship's engines. You're not a child," Kirk said, in a placating tone. "Hell, you've saved me twice," he added, causing the Russian to grin. "Whether you need it or not, as long as we're friends, I'm gonna be protective," he said. "I want to be."

"I suppose is okay. I like it, just not like people feeling like they need to babysit me," Chekov conceded. "I is going to protect you, too, you know. Wery clumsy, captains are," he added, giggling a little. Kirk grinned, and looked over at the bottle, wondering how long Chekov had been nursing it.

"Never think that you're not old enough or pretty enough or whatever, for anyone. I feel like crap knowing I made you feel like that even for a second," Kirk said. He paused for a long while. "Another thing I thought was that… I'm you're captain. If I hit on you, maybe you'd feel pressure, or something. I'd never want to do that, too you. But… I really like you, and you seem to like me, so… I still don't know if I'd be very good at it, but if you're willing to go out with an idiot, I was hoping you'd give me a second chance to try one date and see where it goes. God, I'm babbling. I'm honestly babbling; I never babble in front of cute guys," Kirk said, in one breath. His heart was practically in his throat, when he said that. He looked at Chekov with wide eyes, amazed at how his navigator turned him into a nervous teenager.

"Da."

"To which part?"

"All."

"Awesome," Kirk said, beaming. "Here, I have something for you," he added, pulling out his stylus from a pocket on his uniform. With a motion of his thumb along the back end of the small cylinder, he commanded the microfacturing systems within it to switch it from a stylus to an ink pen. He grabbed Chekov's hand and wrote down .4, the address for his personal communications account. Though the young man didn't really need it; all of the crew had everyone's addresses, he thought it would be a nice apology in response to his attempt at flirtation.

Chekov's grin proved him correct.

"Uh, I've probably exhausted my five minutes, though, so I'll leave you to your wodka," he added, smiling sheepishly at the younger man, as he moved to stand up.

"I wasn't counting," Chekov said. "Please stay," he said, and Kirk complied immediately, still sitting a cushion away from him. "You know, you had no way of knowing that it was not I that would be seducing you, keptin," he added, taking one last drink from his cup. "Perhaps I intended only to use you for your body, and then dispose of you like empty wodka bottle, when used up and spent," he declared.

Kirk looked at him, now his turn to drop his jaw. It took him almost a full minute to process that the younger man was probably joking, before he spoke again. "But, you're not, right?"

"Time only will tell," Chekov said, a Cheshire grin forming on his thin lips.

"I mean, there was a certain amount of using me for my body that I'd anticipated, anyway," Kirk said, scooting a little closer. "That's kinda the point, right?" he teased. "Wait. Empty vodka bottle? You drank this whole thing yourself?!" he exclaimed, picking up the bottle and shaking it to find nothing in it.

"Da," Chekov said, leaning over to rest his head on Kirk's shoulder.

"You better not black out on me. I don't want to have to redo this conversation tomorrow," the captain said, reaching over to run a hand through Chekov's hair. "You Russians have a huge tolerance, right?"

"I do not know. Is first time drinking zis much," Chekov replied, smiling at being petted. "I zought it would help me relax," he said.

"I drove you to drink a whole bottle of vodka? I'm a total bitch," Kirk said, only half joking. "You're going to have a hell of a headache tomorrow morning," he added.

"My only regret is not saving some for my gallant keptin," Chekov replied, giggling a little again.

"You're so fuckin' cute," Kirk murmured, entranced by the sheer silliness of the drunk Russian. Chekov attempted to reply with a kiss, but Kirk moved his head so that he only got him on the cheek. "None of that, mister. Not when you're drunk. It'd be wrong," he chided, in a way that he had never, ever done before. He'd picked up many, many men and women and bars, and that sort of restraint had never been a factor in those interactions.

"Why?" Chekov said, trying again.

"For one, it'd be taking advantage. For another, when I kiss you, I want to make sure you're all there to remember it," Kirk replied, looking him in the eyes.

"Not taking advantage, since I was one doing kissing," Chekov said, but he stopped trying to kiss him and put his head back on his shoulder. "I zink I am drunk, zough," he added, nodding fervently against his shoulder.

"I zink so, too," Kirk replied, matching his inflection.

"Jim is making fun of me," Chekov said. "Maybe I should just switch to Russian and leawve him out," he suggested, to himself, attempting to get up, but then ending up flouncing down across Kirk's lap, face down into the cushions.

"You are a wierdo," Kirk responded, swallowing deeply as he tried to get used to that new position. It took a lot of willpower not to run a hand across the perfect rear end that was now being presented to him. It took even more willpower not to simply sling the slim ensign over his shoulder, and carry him off to his bed. "Come on. I'm taking you back to your quarters, Pavel. You're trashed," he said.

"Am not," Chekov replied, rolling off of him, and ending up on the floor in the process. "Ok. Maybe I am."

Kirk grinned, and reached down to haul him up to his feet. Chekov's feet were unsteady, but he was still mostly able to walk. Instinctively, Kirk put a hand around his waist as they walked, pausing only to unlock the compartment. Luckily, the night shift had fewer personnel than the two day shifts, so he was able to walk him to his quarters without being seen. The doors hissed open to reveal a completely immaculate set of living quarters, that hardly look like they belonged to a teenager at all. Then again, Pavel Chekov was no ordinary teenager.

Significantly smaller than his own near-palatial suite, Chekov's quarters combined the living, sleeping, and dining areas into one room, with a private head. The one luxury he was provided was a long viewport that took up most of the wall above the bed, giving the young man an excellent view of whatever the Enterprise happened to be passing. Beneath the bed, there was a set of built-in bookshelves, which were crammed full of real books, all with spines that indicated they had been read many times.

"Please, come in," Chekov said, looking a little self-conscious, even with his room being perfectly organized.

"You must be bucking for promotion with a room this inspection-ready," Kirk noted, as he helped Chekov over to the bed. As they had gone through the corridors, Chekov's footing had become less and less secure, and by the time they sat down, the bottle of vodka had fully made its impact known.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Chekov said, before stumbling into the bathroom. The door closed behind him, but Kirk didn't hear any retching. After five minutes, he went in to see Chekov looking quite miserable, kneeling in front of the toilet. "I was wrong," he said.

"This is one of those times were I'm going to be protective and take care of you, unless you're an adult who doesn't need it," Kirk said, grinning as he crossed his arms.

"No, is ok. Be protective," Chekov replied, practically hugging the bowl.

"You're the boss," Kirk replied, helping him up, and back into his room to sit on the bed. The Russian looked even paler than usual. "Stay here," he commanded, before going over to get a glass of water from the bathroom sink. "Drink this whole thing," he said.

"Aye, sir," Chekov responded.

"Please don't call me that when I'm in your bed… I love the way you say 'sir' and 'keptin,' but it's gonna make me feel old," Kirk said, reaching over to play with Chekov's curls for a moment.

"Aye, Jim," Chekov corrected, before following instructions and drinking the whole glass of water. He then toppled over to lay on his side. "I am sleepy,' he declared. "Will you stay until I fall asleep?"

"Sure," Kirk replied.

"Lay down with me? Like in tent?" Chekov asked, softly.

"Shit. You remember that? I'm a kind of cuddly sleeper… You probably thought I was a creep," Kirk responded, getting nervous again.

"No. Is why I asked Uhura how to talk to you," Chekov responded. "I liked wery much. No one has ever… I do not know what word is for zat," he added, looking a little confused.

"You're cute," Kirk noted, kicking off his boots, and laying next to him. He wrapped his arms around him, and pulled him in tight. "This is called 'spooning,' Pavel," he explained. "And right now, I'm only doing it to keep you on your side, so you don't, uh, well… because alcohol can be bad," he said, not wanting to actually explain that he was doing it to keep the young man from choking on his own vomit, should the occasion erupt. "I liked it, too," he added, in a softer tone, nuzzling up against his neck, but keeping his hands on his own forearms, to avoid encouraging anything more intimate. He figured, though, that having slept like this once before with him, it was probably permitted to do so again before an actual date.

"And you will stay with, until I fall asleep?"

"Da," Kirk said.

* * *

When Chekov awoke, he had snippets of a conversation with Kirk and a spectacular headache roaring through his mind. He remembered almost everything, up until their walk back to his quarters. He looked down to see that he was still in his uniform, all except his boots, and that there were two gold-shirted arms wrapped around him. He was unused to waking up with someone else, but he was quickly acclimating favorably to the experience of behind held.

"J-Jim?" he croaked out, throat dry from overindulgence the night before.

"'Morning,' Kirk replied, nuzzling the side of his neck. Kirk's new stubble grazed across Chekov's skin in an especially pleasing way, sending a shudder of pleasure down his spine. "How's your head?"

"I do not know word in your language sufficient to describe," Chekov said, gritting his teeth, when the effort of speaking sent tremors of pain through his skull. "If you have feelings for me, like you said, please kill me," he added.

"Drama queen," Kirk murmured, dragging his face along the boy's neck again, which elicited a small murmur of pleasure. "Bones'll fix you up," he added.

Several minutes later, after both playful and real persuasion, Kirk had managed to rouse Chekov and get his boots back on. A short while later, they were standing in the medical bay, with its bright, bright lights, looking quite disheveled from a night spent in their clothes.

"What do you two want?" McCoy asked, emerging from his office to see the two command division officers standing in the middle of his sickbay. "Why does it look like you two haven't slept?" he asked, grumbling as he got a tricorder, and immediately went to kirk.

"Nice to see you, too, Bones. It's not me, this time. He's got a hell of a hangover, though," he said, pointing his thumb at Chekov.

"I bet you had something to do with it, then," McCoy grumbled, as he turned to the navigator. Chekov couldn't help but blush as the doctor looked him over; while the doctor was not a mean person, his grating manner was a little intimidating. He was happy to have Kirk with him for that visit, if only to encourage a little tolerance.

"I have learned my lesson; so much wodka is never good idea. Please can you make the headache go away?" Chekov said, speaking very quietly.

"Don't worry, kid. I've been the Captain's doctor for five years; I'm an expert on hangovers," McCoy replied, turning to grab something from a crash cart, which he then loaded into a hypospray. "How much did you drink, anyway?" the doctor asked, as he motioned for Chekov to sit down on one of the biobeds off to the side. Kirk followed him, closely, standing next to the bed as he watched McCoy prepare the treatment.

"A bottle of wodka," Chekov admitted; Kirk shook his head.

"A… Jim, you let this kid drink a whole bottle of vodka?" McCoy said, agitatedly, sending shudders of pain through the young Russian's head.

"Please. Not so loud," Chekov whined. "Ze keptin was not responsible," he added. "Made me drink water, too."

"Yeah, right," the doctor replied, rolling his eyes. Though the captain and doctor were close friends, Chekov was always amazed at how hostile their relationship seemed to be. He didn't have much time to process that, before the physician applied the hypospray to his neck. It stung a little, but that was quickly replaced with an immense amount of relief for his head.

"Why aren't you ever that gentle with me?" Kirk asked.

"Chekov, this will take a few hours to get you totally back up to speed. Take it easy, drink a lot of water, and avoid listening to this man, if at all possible," McCoy said, pointing to Kirk.

"Yes, doctor. Zank you," the ensign replied, sheepishly, as he hopped down from the bed. With the pain abating somewhat, he was now keenly aware of the nausea and general unsteadiness that were still left. McCoy shook his head one more time, before returning to his office, leaving the two of them alone. "Zank you, too, keptin."

"I want you to take this shift off," Kirk replied, looking him up and down.

"No, sir. I need to be on ze bridge," Chekov said, shaking his head; the thought of missing a duty shift appalled him, especially since the only reason would be to sleep off a stupid indulgence.

"Doesn't it say captain somewhere on my uniform?" Kirk asked, waving a hand over his own chest.

"No, sir. It does not—"

"Figure of speech," the captain interrupted. "For me?"

"For you," Chekov agreed.

"Go back to bed," Kirk ordered.

"Would it be too much to ask for you to come back to bed, too?" Chekov responded, with a grin. Kirk smiled back at him, and leaned in a little closer.

"Meet me at 18:30 hours on the arboretum deck. No ranks, no uniforms. Got it?" he whispered, sending a shudder of electricity down Chekov's spine, as his hot breath hit his ear.

"Yes, sir," he responded, automatically. He gave one last smile, before turning to leave the medbay. Kirk began to follow.

"Not so fast, Jim. Get in here," he heard McCoy say, as the doors to the corridor opened.

"I think I'd trade you the hangover for the lecture I'm about to get," Kirk teased, before turning on his heel and walking into the doctor's office, leaving Chekov to return to his quarters for a a nap.

* * *

"Are you out of your corn-pickin', wheat-threshin', square-dancin' mind?!" Doctor McCoy asked Kirk, when the captain took a seat in front of the desk in his office, as he looked at the smug smirk on the Iowan's handsome face. His hair was unusually disheveled, and his uniform was wrinkled. He knew what that meant.

"I didn't give him any vodka, Bones!" Kirk responded. "I swear."

"That's not what I'm talkin' about. Jim Kirk doesn't come into my sickbay with a hung-over Ensign, after a night of 3D chess. What did you do to that boy?" he accused, pressing a button on the desk that closed a pair of transparent doors over the archway that led into his office.

"I didn't do anything except give him a glass of water and put him to bed," Kirk responded, a bit of his smile disappearing.

"Then why do you look like you haven't been back to your quarters, yet?"

"Well, I did sleep with him…"

"You _slept_ with Chekov?!" McCoy shouted.

"Not so loud, Bones!" Kirk responded, shaking his head. "I _slept_ with him, meaning I made sure he stayed on his side all night, so he wouldn't choke to death. What was I supposed to do?"

"You could have brought him here."

"Yeah, to let you pump his stomach? He's fine, I'm fine, everyone's fine. I did _not_ take advantage of my navigator, Bones," Kirk said, shaking his head again. "I know I'm not exactly Prince Charming, but give me a little credit."

"I'm sorry, Jim," McCoy said, genuinely taken aback by the turn the conversation had taken. "You do like him, though, don't you?"

"Yeah," Kirk admitted, rubbing his neck, and looking out the window into the medical bay. "I know how it sounds. I know how it looks. I'd be the first one to say that it's a crazy idea," he added. "For two years, I made myself stay away. Two years, Bones."

"I didn't realize you had it that bad."

"I don't think I did, either, until we started talking. After the whole Kahn thing, and then when we went to that ocean planet… I know I'm wrong for him. I'm scared I'll hurt him, but Spock thinks I should go for it. Hell, Uhura thinks I should go for it," the Captain said, after a moment of hesitation.

"Spock and Uhura want you to seduce Chekov?"

"Spock thinks he would be a 'stabilizing influence' in my life," Kirk confirmed.

"Jesus," McCoy replied, leaning back in his chair. "Look, Jim. I hate to agree with Spock too much, but maybe he's right. I can't remember you ever hesitating like that with a young, pretty thing," he said. "Maybe you've grown up."

"Maybe. You know, I've never been this excited to be with someone, but I'm still fuckin' terrified of hurting him," Kirk said, mumbling a little.

"I think you're on the right track, then. It's when you're not afraid of that…," the doctor replied, trailing off. He knew a fair bit about romance gone sour, but Kirk didn't need to hear that story again. "Plus, you've got a little extra motivation: not even Jim Kirk could get away with breaking everyone's favorite ensign's heart on this ship," he said, with a grin.

"So, no pressure," Kirk responded, shaking his head.

* * *

Even with the lingering fear that he'd somehow make a tactical misstep with Chekov, Kirk couldn't help but smile as he walked onto the bridge. Spock stood up from the chair, as Sulu announced his presence on the bridge. He always liked the way Chekov said it, but was pleased that the young ensign had followed his instructions to sleep of the rest of his hangover.

"How're we doing, Spock," Kirk said, sitting down, and looking up at the Vulcan.

"All systems nominal, captain. We are still on course, and estimate 26.1 hours to arrival," he responded. "Ensign Chekov has yet to report for duty. I was about to call him," Spock responded, reaching for the intercom in the command throne, but Kirk slapped his hand away.

"Don't worry about it, commander," the blue-eyed captain said, causing Uhura to turn in his chair and look him directly in the eyes. "I know where he is; everything is fine," he said, speaking to Spock, but returning Uhura's eye contact.

"As you wish, captain."

* * *

At exactly 18:30 hours, Pavel Chekov walked onto the _Enterprise_'s arboretum deck. Located in the secondary hull, this space spanned the width of the ship for the forward quarter of two whole decks, and was filled with trees, flowers, grass, and other visually pleasing plants. It was one of the most popular areas on the ship, because it was virtually indistinguishable from a real terrestrial park. That evening, though, the computer informed him that it was off limits, except for him. Wearing a grey sweater to match his eyes and black pants, he strolled through the gardens until he found Kirk, sitting on a blanket with a picnic basket, dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt, with a leather jacket.

"Hello," Chekov said, wringing his hands a little as he sat down, completely nervous to be on his first-ever date.

"All better?" Kirk asked, referring to the hangover.

"Yes…, Jim," Chekov responded, resisting the urge to call him captain. "You really locked out the whole arboretum, just for us?" he said, incredulously.

"There are certain perks to rank," Kirk replied, grinning as he opened the basket. "I was in the mood for a little Russian," he added, as he began pulling out various containers, which bore the ship's food services logo on one side. Chekov grinned at the pun, and helped him open things; every single dish was Russian, and the captain had procured everything from caviar and crackers to borscht and traditional meat dishes. "How'd I do?"

"Wery good!" Chekov responded. "I did not know zat you liked Russian cuisine," he added, scooting a little closer to him, as his date retrieved silverware from another compartment on the basket.

"I've honestly never tried it," Kirk responded, with a grin. "I was hoping you could give me a tour."

"Happy to."

Sitting on their blanket, Chekov helped Kirk through a traditional Russian dinner, and was quite pleased to see that the blue-eyed captain actually enjoyed most of what he was given; he did make a face at the borscht, but so did many people. He couldn't help but giggle, when he made the captain try it again.

"Beets should not be soup," Kirk said, scrunching up his nose.

"In your culture, you turn fruit into soup. _Tomatoes_ should not be soup," Chekov retorted. "Here, is better with this," he said, reaching for the container of Russian sour creme, and then adding a dollop to the captain's bowl of soup. _"Smetana_," he said.

"_Smetana_," Kirk repeated, before trying it for a third time. His eyes lit up. "You're right, that is better," he said. "You just know how to make everything better," he said, making the ensign blush. Over the course of an hour, they slowly worked through the food that Kirk had brought, making sure to sample each dish. The culinary services department had done a very good job of approximating traditional Russian fare, and Chekov was impressed that the captain had made such an effort to experience his culture.

"Zat was wery good, Jim," Chekov said, once all of the containers had been tested. Kirk smiled, and reached over to brush a curl off of his forehead.

"I'm glad you liked it, Pavel," the captain said. "Now for something from where I'm from," he added, reaching into another compartment to retrieve a basket of strawberries and a container of whipped cream. "These always make me think of a warm, summer night in Iowa," he said, picking up a strawberry and running it through the cream. Chekov reached for one, but Kirk stopped him and held the one he'd prepared up to the young Russian's lips.

"Is zis traditional method of serving?" he asked.

"Only if you really like someone," Kirk responded, not skipping a beat. Chekov felt his face getting hot in response, but he leaned in to take a bite, avoiding Kirk's fingers as he separated the berry from the leaves. They took turns trading berries for a long while, until they were gone. With each one they seemed to get closer and closer, until their legs were touching.

"You have juice on your hand," Chekov noted. Kirk reached for a napkin, but Chekov grabbed his hand and pulled it up to his mouth, where he proceeded to suck the sweet, red remains of the strawberries off of his captain's fingertips. Kirk's eyes got wide with surprise, and a moan of unexpected pleasure quickly found its way out of his throat, much to Chekov's utter delight.

"You have strawberries on your lips," Kirk noted, putting his clean hand on Chekov's chin.

"You have cream on yours," Chekov replied, breathless as they got closer.

"Maybe we can help each other out, then," the older man replied, before pressing his lips into Chekov's. That first kiss was long and slow, sending off exactly the sort of fireworks that Chekov had always imagined. They broke for a second, before diving in for a more passionate lip-lock. Kirk's tongue pressed its way past Chekov's lips, as they worked to suck all the remains of dessert off of each other. "I knew you'd taste sweet," Kirk murmured, as they rested their foreheads together.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Kirk and Chekov tumbled out of the turbolift and practically ran down the corridor to Kirk's quarters. As soon as the doors closed behind them, Kirk hit the lock and then planted his hands firmly on Chekov's slender hips. His favorite navigator responded by throwing his arms around his neck and pulling him down for another kiss. Kirk pulled him close, savoring the boy's eagerness as he thought about what to do next.

"Pavel," he couldn't help but gasp, when the boy decided to try sucking on his tongue. "You're a natural," he murmured.

"I want to learn more," Chekov declared.

"I'll teach you whatever you want," Kirk replied, as they slowly backed through the living room and towards the captain's bedroom. "I want to show you everything," he added, leaning in to suck on the boy's neck as his backside came to rest on the edge of the bed.

"Yes!" Chekov responded, squirming happily as Kirk's tongue and teeth found his neck. Kirk responded by picking him up and throwing him down playfully on the bed. He crawled up over him, and leaned down to resume kissing him.

"Good," he whispered, as Chekov kicked off his own boots. "One rule, though: if you don't like something, you tell me." Chekov nodded eagerly, and that was enough for Kirk. He put his hands on the hem of the boy's sweater, and then easily tugged it off of him. "Fuck," Kirk murmured. He knew the boy was small and strong, but he'd never seen him like this; every muscle in his chest and stomach was clearly visible under hairless, perfect skin; because of his metabolism and love of running (he was the youngest person ever to win the Academy marathon), Chekov had virtually no body fat.

Kirk leaned down to plant soft kisses from Chekov's neck down to his chest. His teeth and tongue found their way to one of his nipples. It only took one slight graze of teeth against flesh to send Chekov bucking up into him, shuddering with pleasure. Kirk had almost forgot what it was like to be 18 and have such a hair-trigger; he was definitely going to have fun with that.

"Have I mentioned that you're beautiful?" Kirk asked, before running his tongue along the skinny ensign's nipple again. He didn't give him time to respond, before moving to the other, and sucking gently on it. Chekov's hands found their way to the captain's perfect hair, trying to pull his mouth closer to his body. The boy seemed to know what he wanted, and Kirk was more than happy to deliver, lapping happily at his tiny, pink nipples for several minutes, before kissing further down. He carefully licked each and every individual muscle in the boy's abs, as he got closer and closer to the bulge in his pants.

"Jim!" Chekov gasped, when Kirk squeezed his crotch. He could feel that his partner was painfully hard, after just a few minutes of foreplay; he liked him already. Kirk easily unbuttoned the unbelted pants, and tugged them off. The captain was momentarily shocked when he found nothing underneath them, except skin.

"You went commando?"

"I don't… Oh, yes. I zought maybe I wouldn't be needing underwear," Chekov responded, turning borscht red in the face.

"Oh, we _will_ get along," Kirk murmured, not sparing a single second before leaning down to wrap his lips around Chekov's bouncing erection. It was pink, and perfect, and delicious. Though it was average in length, it was perfectly proportioned, and looked quite large on Chekov's small frame. Kirk was usually the one getting his dick sucked, but Chekov was just too enticing to leave hanging. The young man's hands again went to his hair, urging him on. Kirk easily swallowed him (as it was certainly not his first rodeo), eliciting moans and quiet curses in Russian.

With one hand, Kirk reached up to tweak one of Chekov's nipples, and with the other he squeezed his balls gently, watching for a reaction. The young man immediately bucked into his mouth, as he squirmed with pleasure. Grinning around Chekov's dick, he reached up to slip two of his fingers into the Russian's mouth. His partner quickly and obediently began sucking on them, as Kirk continued his ministrations.

"Why—?" Chekov started, when Kirk took his fingers back, but he was quickly made to understand, when a slick digit probed at his entrance. He whimpered and moaned softly as Kirk continued to suck his cock, and gently began to finger him with just his index finger. "If you continue… I will…"

"I know, Pavel, that's the idea," Kirk said, taking half of a second to announce his intentions, before returning to his work. After a few minutes, he added a second finger to Chekov's incredibly tight, immaculately pink hole, sending shudders of pleasure up the younger man's body. Quickly, he found his target, and managed to probe Chekov's prostate with his middle finger. That, combined with the pressure he was creating on his cock, was too much.

"Jim!" Chekov moaned, loudly, as he lost control, completely. Kirk continued to suck, increasing the pressure and swallowing all of his salty-sweet cum, remaining to lick him clean, before crawling up next to him on the bed. "Zat was… Wow…," he offered, weakly, before leaning over to kiss him. "You taste like me," he commented.

"You know what your own cum tastes like?"

"Doesn't everyone?" Chekov said, with a look of wonder, before kissing him again. "What about you?" he asked, reaching for Kirk's crotch.

"This was just round one, Pasha," Kirk said, almost in a growl, as he kissed him hard.

* * *

Still recovering from the first orgasm he'd ever been given by someone else, Chekov looked up as Kirk pulled off his shirt. Crossing his arms and tugging up from the hem, this had the pleasing effect of slowly revealing the captain's muscular body. While he was less-defined than Chekov, he was much larger in terms of raw power. He was mostly smooth, but there was a light dusting of hair in the cleft between his powerful pectoral muscles, and another in a trail leading down from his belly button. Kirk quickly wriggled out of his pants, leaving him in just a pair of silk boxer briefs that looked distinctly non-regulation. The tent there was quite impressive, even a little intimidating, but Chekov couldn't help but lick his lips in anticipation. Luckily, his age made going straight into round two not a problem, and he put his hands on the captain's thighs, pushing him off.

They rolled together, until Chekov was on top, kissing him hard for a moment and then moving down the captain's body. He immediately felt Kirk's hands on his ass, kneading and massaging the cheeks, and teasing his hole occasionally, as Chekov tried to concentrate on repeating what Kirk had done for him. Though inexperienced, he prided himself on being a fast learner, and it didn't take much to get Kirk to groan with pleasure, once his teeth barely grazed one of his nipples.

"Yes, Pavel," Kirk hissed, still handling his ass. "Just like that, Pasha," he whispered, groaning louder as Chekov began to suck on his nipples. A shudder of pleasure went through Chekov's heart, hearing that name for a second time; it was intimate, playful, and private; he wondered how far he had to dig into the linguistic database to figure out the diminutive of his name. He couldn't exactly articulate why, but it made him want to play the part, to be Kirk's little Pavel, his plaything.

Chekov wanted to spend the sort of time exploring the captain's body that he'd spent on his own, but he couldn't restrain himself from immediately sliding down to Kirk's bulging trunks. Kirk's hands moved off of his ass, and he stuck his thumbs under the waistband, sliding it down to his thighs, allowing his erection to flop free, up against the captain's flat stomach.

"Wow," the young man said, salivating at his newest toy. It turned out that the captain had him beat not only in muscle bulk, but in certain other areas of his anatomy, with an endowment that was most certainly well above average, with a matching set of balls. He didn't need to be told what to do, as he came in to lick up the shaft gently, causing Kirk to squirm happily.

"Please, suck it, baby," Kirk begged, unnecessarily as Chekov worked his way up to the head, which he carefully took into his mouth. The young Russian whimpered a little, when the captain's fingers found their way to his curls again, and tugged on them as he began to suck. He could feel the older man's body tensing under him as he gently sucked, gradually getting more and more of it into his mouth. Though he lacked the innate talent to swallow him completely, the captain's large eyes told him that he was still doing a pretty good job. "I think you need less of a tutorial than you let on."

"Am fast learner," Chekov corrected, before resuming his work. Kirk's scent and taste were overwhelming; he would have been perfectly content to stay there all night, but that's not what his partner had in mind. With a playful shove, Chekov found himself on his back, and Kirk quickly rolled him over again, so he was face down.

"You're gorgeous," Kirk said, spreading the younger man's legs open, and getting in between them. Chekov jumped nearly a foot, when he felt something hot and slick on his entrance. The blade of Kirk's tongue was unexpectedly strong and talented, and he felt himself opening up to him easily.

"What is?"

"Rimming. I'm rimming you, Pavel. I love teaching you new words," Kirk responded, before resuming his eager laps at Chekov's entrance. The captain's hands were on his ass cheeks, squeezing them gently, while also adding the occasional slap, which made the young ensign both jump and moan.

"Please, more," the curly-haired Russian begged, after almost fifteen minutes of being eaten out.

"Tell me what you want," Kirk whispered, slipping a finger inside him, and eliciting something between a yelp and a moan.

"Please, keptin. Fuck me. Make me yours," Chekov said, desperately, surprised at the things that were coming out of his mouth. "Please," he repeated.

"You are such a fuckin' minx," Kirk said, crawling up to plant his hands on either side of Chekov and then bending down to kiss him hard. "Just promise that you'll tell me if it hurts; it's gonna feel great eventually, but I'm not gonna risk hurting you," he said.

"Promise," Chekov replied, butterflies emerging in his stomach. "Will go slow?" he asked, rolling over a little as Kirk got between his legs. He shuddered when he felt hard cock brushing up against his ass, as Kirk got him into the missionary position.

"Definitely, babe," Kirk said, caressing the younger man's face with the back of his hand. Even twenty-four hours ago, Chekov couldn't have imagined himself in that position, horny and opened wide up, waiting for his captain to screw him. His breathing was shallow and quick, as he waited for that new sensation. Kirk reached into the nightstand to grab a bottle of something, which he applied to himself, and then gently to Chekov's entrance. It felt slick and cold, but definitely good. "Ready?"

"Yes," Chekov replied, wrapping his arms around Kirk's neck as the older man positioned himself.

"Relax and trust me, okay?"

Chekov nodded, and tried to do so. Even with that warning, though, Kirk's initial thrust into him was met with much resistance and much pain, as is often the case when something large is shoved somewhere quite tight. Chekov could not restrain a yelp of pain, causing an immediate look of panic on Kirk's face.

"Shit. Are you okay?"

"Yes… Hurts a little… Please don't stop," Chekov begged, wanting to find out what it felt like. Kirk looked at him for a moment, before continuing. Chekov was better at hiding the pain as Kirk sunk into him centimeter by centimeter, and then suddenly he didn't have to, anymore; as painful as it was to have his cherry popped, it was all made worthwhile when the captain brushed against his most sensitive spot, sending jolts of pleasure up his spine. "Jim," Chekov moaned.

"Pavel," Kirk responded, pushing further into him. "Jesus, this is the tightest ass in creation," he murmured, as he bottomed out. Chekov felt his insides rippling around the captain, and on instinct he made things tighter by controlling his interior muscles. "Fuck," Kirk moaned.

"So big," the ensign managed, feeling completely stretched out by his captain's cock. They rested like that for a few minutes, to give Chekov a chance to adapt to the new activity, after which he tried to draw Kirk in further by locking his ankles behind Kirk's legs.

"You want more, baby?" Kirk whispered, slowly pulling out about an inch, and then pushing back in. Chekov could only moan in response, as Kirk began to thrust into him in earnest. "Damn, I can't believe I waited this long to fuck you," he whispered, leaning in to suck on the boy's neck. "Does that feel good, Pasha?"

"Da!" Chekov responded, immediately, squirming with abandon from the kisses on his neck. "Can we do zis every night?" he asked, his back arching as Kirk's cock hit him right in the prostate.

"At least," Kirk grunted, sweat beginning to bead on his chest and neck. With each thrust, Pavel found himself loosening up a little bit, and after about five minutes, most of the pain was replaced with pleasure. He looked up into his captain's blue eyes, as they alternated between sloppy kisses and passionate necking. He definitely understood why the captain was the sort of man that found himself frequently invited to peoples' beds. Kirk was as much a master with his own hands and dick as he was a tactical genius. "I'm gonna make you cum without touching yourself," he declared.

"How?"

"Don't you worry about that, cute stuff," Kirk said, with an evil sort of grin as he sped up his pace and pinned the younger man's hands next to him to the bed. That alone was enough to make Chekov's cock spasm with anticipation. In a very short while, Kirk had turned him from a virgin to a very eager bottom, and he couldn't help but wrap his legs around the stronger man's trim waist, to try to pull him in further.

"Kirk!" Chekov moaned, when he felt him biting the soft skin of his neck. "So very close," he gasped, as the bed began to rock from Kirk's sheer determination to make him cum.

After all that, what sent him over the edge was Kirk's mere voice. "Cum for me, Pasha," he ordered.

"Jim!" Chekov gasped, feeling his balls drawing up, and then unleashing the second load of the evening all over himself. He shuddered and moaned incoherently, as Kirk continued fucking him.

"Ungh. I'm cumming, too," Kirk gasped, slamming in especially hard. Chekov moaned again when he felt Kirk swelling inside him, as he pumped him full of cum; he didn't stop fucking until he was totally spent, and Chekov found himself feeling very full. With his dick firmly lodged up the young Russian's ass, Kirk leaned in to kiss him sloppily. "So, how was that?"

"Incredible… Fantastic," Chekov gasped. "I just wished I had been able to last longer," he said, blushing a little bit.

"That's the beauty of being eighteen, though; it's not midnight yet, and I'm still gonna get to make you come two more times," Kirk responded, with a wide grin.

* * *

It was actually three more times, when all was said and done, and the two of them were lying completely spent in a pile of sex, sweat, and excitement on the bed. It took a lot of convincing, but Kirk was eventually allowed to carry his new boytoy into the bathroom for a long, steamy (yet chaste) shower. Once they were both clean and the sheets were changed, they crawled together into the center of the large bed.

"I forgot my pajamas, again," Chekov complained.

"You're never gonna need those again," Kirk promised, wrapping his limbs around him and holding him tightly.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"And we get to do this again in the morning?"

"Is my middle name Tiberius?"


	3. Chapter 3 - Rough and Tumble

James Kirk stretched languidly in his bed, smiling about the events of the previous night, as Chekov slumbered peacefully next to him. It was still several hours before they had to start getting ready for their duty shift on the bridge, but he found himself definitely to be a morning person, when he had a cute twink to snuggle in his bed. Sometimes he was annoyed when last night's fling was still there in the morning, but that definitely wasn't the case with Chekov. Tightening his arms around him from a loose embrace to close spooning and planting kisses on his neck elicited squirms of pleasure, but not consciousness yet. The captain continued to lightly tease his Russian ensign's neck, having already discovered that it was an especially-sensitive spot for Chekov, until he saw his gray eyes fluttering open.

"'Morning, cute stuff," Kirk whispered, giving him a peck on the cheek.

"Have you forgotten my name, already?" Chekov teased, stretching his arms, and then pushing back into Kirk's embrace. Kirk couldn't help but chuckle at his surprising perceptiveness; he often used pet names in bed, to avoid calling paramours by the wrong names. With Chekov, though, it was for a very different reason; it was to make his pretty gray eyes light up.

"It's Sulu, right?" the captain replied, eliciting a laugh from the young navigator. "I know you're one of those guys who dresses in gold and sits at the front of my bridge," he added, running a hand through his curls. "I can't believe I got to wake up with Pavel Andreievich Chekov two days in a row," he murmured, earning both a grin and a deep blush from him. "This is better than last time, though, right?"

"Infinitely," Chekov agreed, turning around in Kirk's embrace, and nuzzling against his chest. The blue-eyed captain rolled onto his back, to let his younger partner lay on top of him. Kirk just smiled at him for a moment, enjoying the way his light form lent itself to being held.

"So, you slept okay? I wasn't too touchy-feely?"

"I slept wonderful; I like it when you touch and feel me," the Russian replied, grinning as he planted a kiss in the middle of Kirk's chest. "I'm just a little sore," he admitted, turning arousal at the thought of touching and feeling him into a pang of guilt.

"Did I hurt you?" Kirk asked quietly. He stroked the ensign's cheek with the back of his hand softly, wondering if he'd over-done it.

"No, not like zat… More sore like after running a marazon," Chekov said, shaking his head. "Good sore."

"We did get pretty… athletic," Kirk agreed, some of the guilt dissipating, but not all. He understood what Chekov was saying, but he'd already triggered the protective impulses in him. "You're sure you're okay, though? I was telling the truth when I said you were the tightest guy I'd ever been with," he added, stroking his hair. "We did go kinda fast."

"I'm fine, Jim," Chekov replied, crawling up a little to kiss him. "Really. You were fantastic. I'm lucky to have first time with you," he added, kissing him again, as Kirk's hands found their way to his pert ass.

"I get to pop your cherry, and you're thanking me?" Kirk responded, as he dug his nails in lightly, pulling his hands up Chekov's slender back, eliciting shudders and gasps from him. "You've got it all backwards; I should be thanking you for the privilege."

"You are just being nice," Chekov replied, looking away demurely.

"Never," Kirk responded, with a grin. "You were definitely worth the wait," he said, bringing his partner's face back around with a finger to his chin.

"Is sex always… zat good?" Chekov asked, looking especially wide-eyed and innocent as he asked that question.

"I think when you're involved it probably is… It usually isn't, though," the captain replied, honestly. "We seem to click," he added, with his hands moving down Chekov's body to his hips.

"I hawve a wery good teacher," the curly-haired Russian replied, nuzzling into Kirk's neck.

"Got anyone lined up for your second time, yet?"

"Zere is zis one guy. He's got blue eyes and a cute butt," Chekov replied, practically purring as he slid down a little until his ass was resting up against Kirk's morning wood. The captain could feel Chekov's own hardness pressed up against his abs. "I don't know if he's interested, zough."

"I think you might be in luck," Kirk replied, grinning as he pulled his shoulders down for a kiss. He shuddered as the head of his cock brushed up against the white-hotness that was Chekov's entrance. "I know for a fact that blue-eyed guys with cute butts love flexible, adorable Russians," he whispered, making him whimper with anticipation as he rubbed himself along his ass.

Chekov reached over to the nightstand to grab the lube, which had been left out from the night prior. With the same innocent smile that always accompanied "Keptin on ze bridge!", he handed it to Kirk. Slicking up several of his fingers, Kirk teased Chekov's hole, until he let out a low moan of pleasure, and then began carefully stretching him out again.

"Jim," Chekov gasped, laying down on top of his body as he was fingered. He craned his neck up to kiss Kirk's neck, as one of his hands went to the captain's nipple. Kirk's cock jumped and he groaned as his partner tried to match the intensity of his fingers. By the time three of Kirk's digits were inside Chekov, the boy had lost the ability to pay attention to his kisses, and Kirk could tell he was ready for more.

"You wanna ride my dick, Pasha?" Kirk asked, with a smirk. Chekov didn't reply, but sat up. The sheets fell off of him as he positioned Kirk's hardon at his entrance. He gritted his teeth a little bit as he tried to relax enough to take the head. They both gasped when it slipped inside of his warmth, and Chekov let out a slight whimper of pain.

It took Kirk a lot of restraint not to say anything; he hated seeing him in pain. As much as he liked rough sex himself, and as much as he saw the potential in Chekov liking it, too, he hated seeing him hurting for real, even for the few seconds it took the young man to get used to his endowment. Chekov slowly slipped down his cock, managing to relax a little bit better than the night before.

"Ya tak polno," Chekov muttered, his eyes rolling back into his head as he got Kirk completely inside him. "Gigantskiy," he added, before Kirk could ask for a translation on the other phrase. Kirk groaned softly, putting his hands on Chekov's hips; the warm, tight sensation of his ass made it difficult to resist thrusting up into him, but he wanted Chekov to take it at his own pace.

After a moment of resting to adjust to the sensation that Kirk was sure he still found novel, Chekov lifted himself up a little bit, and then slid back down onto him. He braced himself with his hands on the captain's chest, moaning softly as he slid up a little more, and repeated the process. Kirk reached up to squeeze Chekov's tiny, pink nipples, eliciting a loud groan of pleasure and encouraging him to bounce a little more quickly. The amount of lube they had used certainly made things easier, and as the young ensign got more into it, he was quickly taking Kirk's cock like he'd been doing it all his life.

"How do you say 'amazing' in Russian?"

"Porazitelny," Chekov responded, with a grin.

"Porazitelny," Kirk repeated, though his accent left a little to be desired. Chekov replied by leaning down to kiss him, a slow, sloppy kiss, while most of his attention was focused on taking Kirk's endowment. Chekov sat back up, arching his back as he really began to use his lithe, strong legs to bounce up and down, as Kirk matched his thrusts with equal intensity. One definite perk of being ridden was getting to watch his body, and see how his taught muscles were all flexing as he gave himself completely to Kirk. It was enough to make the captain bite his lower lip in approval.

Kirk's restraint lasted about five minutes, before he couldn't resist sitting up. With his hands on his partner's hips, he helped him wrap his legs around his waist, until they were in what Kirk thought was called the Lotus position, but he wasn't completely versed in the theory of sex, just the practice. The young Russian through his arms around Kirk's neck, as they both found themselves with ideal leverage to thrust against one another.

This position allowed Kirk to directly hit Chekov's g-spot, and he found himself biting his lip in approval when the ensign moaned loudly enough to probably be heard on the bridge. That was all the encouragement Kirk needed to increase his pace, until they were both panting and on the edge.

"Jim," Chekov gasped. "I zink…," he started, but it was obvious what he thought, when Kirk felt him tightening up.

"Me, too, baby," Kirk responded, gritting his teeth as he felt his balls tightening. "Fuck," he gasped, biting along Chekov's collar bone as he felt the end nearing. He heard a yelp and snippets of Russian words and what could have been English, but he was too far gone to understand what Chekov was saying, as they both came. As he came inside him, Kirk found his own chest and abs coated in the young man's seed. He realized that he was gripping the boy's hips particularly tightly, and when he loosened his grip he saw red finger marks on his alabaster skin. The lower part of Chekov's neck bore light teeth imprints, from where he'd been bitten. "You look so beautiful, right now," Kirk murmured, before kissing him roughly.

Often, an orgasm was enough to give Kirk a moment or two of clear, hormone-free thinking, in which he had any sort of shame or regret about the act he'd just committed or the partner he'd brought to bed. It was also the moment he wanted to stop cuddling and go get a sandwich. With Chekov, though, he didn't have that moment. If anything, he found himself more attracted after cumming. He wrapped his arms around his Russian boytoy and hugged him close, smearing sweat and cum on his defined torso, as he continued kissing him.

Kirk thought of Chekov sitting on the bridge, covered in his fingerprints and barely-there bite marks under his gold uniform shirt, and full of his cum. The image was incredibly satisfying to possessive sensibilities he didn't know that he had, and it made him not want to let go of him. Indeed, in that first moment of afterglow, all thoughts of his concerns about hurting him or sneaking out in the morning on him and all of those related apprehensions completely vanished.

"Zank you," Chekov whispered, looking sleepy as he nuzzled Kirk's face, and hugged him back. His curls were sweaty on his forehead, and he was glowing in an incredibly sexy way as he held onto Kirk's neck to stay upright.

"Thank you," Kirk responded, rolling them over. Chekov whimpered a little as he shifted inside him, so he made a move to pull out, but he found himself stopped by the younger man's ankles hooking around his legs.

"Not yet," the Russian ordered, panting a little as he looked up at Kirk.

"Yes, sir," the blue-eyed captain said, grinning a little as he carefully repositioned them again so he could lay on his side; Chekov whimpered again as he rotated around Kirk's semi-hard cock, but sighed happily as Kirk wrapped his arms around him and held him tight. "Computer… Set alarm for 0700."

"Acknowledged. 91 minutes remaining," the computer responded, crisply.

"It's only 0530? I could definitely get used to being a morning person," Kirk mumbled, nuzzling Chekov, who had already fallen back asleep.

* * *

By the time the alarm went off, Chekov had already been awake and active for a while. When he had gone to gather his clothes off of the floor, he couldn't help himself from straightening up the rest of Kirk's quarters, until all of the dirty uniforms, interesting unmentionables, and glasses were put where they belonged. As the blue-eyed captain began to stir in bed, he sat down a tray on the nightstand containing the same things he had ordered the last time he'd used his foot slot for breakfast: black coffee, toast, fruit, and a copy of the Federation's leading newspaper on actual paper.

"Pavel, come back to bed," Kirk said, blearily, as he reached out to turn the alarm off.

"Yes, keptin!" Chekov replied, practically leaping into bed with him. Kirk laughed as he pulled him down into hug and kissed the top of his head.

"I love the way you say that," the captain declared, eliciting a grin from the young Russian. Oftentimes, his accent had been a source of friction, but it was a nice change of pace to have Kirk so enamored with it. "Breakfast in bed?" he asked, looking over Chekov's shoulder to the nightstand. "And you cleaned my room? How long have you been up?"

"Only about fifteen minutes," Chekov responded, rolling over Kirk and sitting next to him.

"You didn't have to," Kirk said, sitting up.

"I just wanted to thank you, for last night…, and zis morning," Chekov replied, cheerfully, as he leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Did I do okay? I had the computer make you what you ordered last."

"It's perfect, Pavel," the captain replied, turning to kiss him on the lips. "Are you wearing my boxers?" he asked, grinning.

"I was cold," Chekov replied, blushing a little.

"They look good on you," Kirk said. "I would have woken up sooner, if I knew I got to watch a half-naked Chekov cleaning up and making me breakfast," he teased, as he reached for the tray of food. "Wait, where's yours?" he said, as he paused to look at him.

"I, well, I zought I would eat in my quarters, since I have to go back to shower and get a uniform, and zen go over ze charts for zis system we're about to get to," Chekov responded, rubbing the back of his own neck.

"We have an hour," Kirk reminded him. "Pavel…," he said, in a leading tone, bringing Chekov's face back to look at his own, when he looked away.

"I was, um, well, I zought zat you… I zought maybe I'd overstayed my welcome," Chekov replied, feeling himself blushing deeply.

"Never," Kirk said, without hesitation. "Stay," he said, with a smile.

"If you're sure."

"I am. Have some breakfast, and then we'll take a shower… and you can borrow one of my uniforms," Kirk suggested, reaching for a piece of fruit off of the tray.

"I zink zat might be obvious," Chekov replied, reaching over to encircle Kirk's bicep with his fingers, and then bringing them back over to his own to show the significant difference in their body size.

"Maybe I want everyone to know where you woke up this morning," Kirk suggested, which caused a little somersault in Chekov's chest. "Hell, maybe I don't want you dressed at all," he teased, as he ate the grape he'd selected.

Chekov could only grin in response; when he'd first woken up, he'd been nervous about what their next step was. To go from total virgin to… not a total virgin was a huge deal for him, and he didn't know what the morning after etiquette was. Even with all of Kirk's concerns about not wanting to hurt him and wanting to be there for him, and even trusting him implicitly, he knew the captain's reputation. Just being asked to stay for breakfast made him tingly all over, and he happily went back into the living room to retrieve an identical tray for himself.

He slipped back between the sheets, and sat eating with Kirk, their feet touching as they made small talk about the events in the paper, and about the quality of the synthesized food from the ship's protein tanks.

"Are you doing anything tonight?" Kirk asked, after a moment. Chekov's heart leapt.

"No."

"How about we meet in the rec room at 2100. I've got late meetings with Spock and Scotty, but then we could… play some games," Kirk asked, reaching over to tease the ensign's nipple for a split second.

"I'd love to," Chekov said, completely truthfully.

After breakfast, he found himself pinned against the wall of the shower, with Kirk's fingers interlaced with his, and his mouth on his neck, as water beat down on them from all directions. It turned out that a two-person sonic shower was absolutely no fun at all, as it offered nothing to stop friction and eliminated all of the fun lathering that real water required.

"Spock to Chekov," came the Vulcan commander's voice over the noise of the water. Kirk let out a groan of annoyance as he reached out of the shower to press the intercom button, and then resumed what he was doing. Chekov attempted to slip out of his embrace to speak to the Vulcan, but Kirk kept him pinned.

"Chekov here, sir," he said, managing to keep his voice level as Kirk sucked on his neck.

"I require your assistance in the navigation lab, ensign," Spock said.

"… Understood, commander," Chekov said, while Kirk's hands sunk down his body. "I shall be there in five—," he started, but Kirk shook his head against the back of Chekov's hair. "—ten minutes."

"Alacrity would be appreciated, Ensign," Spock said, the Vulcan version of annoyance clearer on his voice than he probably wanted it to be.

"Ten minutes, Spock," Kirk interjected, sending a pang of embarrassment through Chekov's stomach. He felt himself blushing from head to toe, at the idea of knowing that Spock knew he'd been talking to him while he was with Kirk.

There was a noticeable pause on the other end of the line. "Understood, captain. Spock out," he said, before cutting off the call. Chekov turned wide-eyed to demand to know what Kirk was thinking, but before he could say anything the captain sunk to his knees and began to make up for it.

* * *

Spock was leaning over the center table in the navigation lab, when Chekov finally showed up. It was 11.58 minutes after their conversation over the intercom, but he knew that it was not the young ensign's fault. It was agreeable that Captain Kirk had taken his advice to pursue a relationship with Chekov, but he would have preferred if that did not involve keeping him from his duties. The fact that it was still half an hour before Chekov was scheduled to be on duty escaped the Vulcan's notice completely.

"Ensign, I have been going over our long-range sensor data from the Pergamon system," the commander explained, gesturing to the table. "I have noticed an unusual reading from the fourth planet, but I am unsure whether or not it is a discrepancy in the navigational array or an actual reading."

"Zis looks like an energy reading, commander," Chekov supplied, immediately.

"Precisely," Spock said, pleased with the ensign's quick analysis. "That is why I thought it would be prudent to examine the navigational sensor array; pre-industrial planets should not have energy readings of this kind."

"I checked ze sensors yesterday, myself," the young Russian responded, his hands flying over the console to run another diagnostic. "Zere is nothing wrong, sir."

"Not with the ship, no," Spock replied, thinking aloud. "Fascinating. Can you identify the energy source?"

"It appears to be a matter/antimatter reaction," the navigator replied. "Orion. Definitely Orion. Notice ze fluctuations in frequency of ze modulation wave? Orion reactors are… wery poorly made. Brute force, only; ze dilithium articulation frames are wery crude," he said, after a few minutes of examining it.

"That is very impressive, ensign," Spock offered. "But troubling. Orions are notorious slavers," he said. "We should get to the bridge."

"Aye, commander," Chekov replied, following him out of the lab and to the turbolift.

"I apologize for interrupting you while you were copulating with the captain, ensign," Spock said, politely, as the lift began to move upwards.

"While we were what?!" Chekov said, with a look that even Spock would have to have described as 'completely scandalized.' "We were not!" he replied, shaking his head vehemently.

"I heard the water running, I had assumed—," Spock started.

"No. Not zat," Chekov replied, continuing to shake his head.

Spock decided that it would be best to drop the topic, judging from the increase in capillary dilation in the young man's face. Human could be awfully prudish about their sexual encounters, Spock had realized, even more than Vulcans sometimes. "It is gratifying that the captain took my advice," he added.

"Your advice, commander?"

"To pursue you romantically, ensign," the Vulcan replied, matter-of-factly.

"You…?" Chekov started, but didn't appear to know what to say to that. Before he could think of anything, however, the doors to the bridge opened, and Spock stepped out.

* * *

Lieutenant Sulu had been in command of the bridge over the night shift; it hadn't been especially exciting evening, with the ship traveling between star systems. He was pleased when Spock arrived to relieve him, but another shift at the helm promised to be dull also, until they reached their destination. Chekov followed Spock out of the turbolift, blushing noticeably, and thinking hard about something, as he took the navigation station next to him.

"'Morning, Pavel," Sulu offered, when Chekov seemed to be in a daze.

"Hello, sir," Chekov replied, with his customary smile restored.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes," the younger man said; the smile he continued to hold led Sulu to believe him, but he couldn't help but wonder what Spock had said in the turbolift to make him blush like that, or what Chekov had said himself. He didn't have much time to think about that, before the lift opened again to reveal the captain. "Keptin on ze bridge!" the Russian navigator announced, with his usual elation.

"Something tells me you have new course information for me, Spock," the captain said, smirking as he took the center seat.

"Indeed. Ensign Chekov and I have discovered energy readings from the fourth planet in the Pergamon system," Spock reported.

"Isn't that the planet we're supposed to survey, the one with the pre-industrial civilization?" Kirk asked.

"Indeed," Spock replied. "The energy signature is Orion," he added. The whole bridge turned to look at him when he said that.

"Orion? Shit," Kirk muttered. "Sulu, increase speed to Warp Eight," he ordered.

"Aye, captain," Sulu replied, adrenaline pumping as he reached for the ship's master throttle and increased their speed.

"New ETA is 29 minutes, keptin," Chekov reported, as the ship's navigational computer updated their course and speed; Sulu knew that the young Russian had it calculated before that, though.

"Spock, when we get there, I'm taking a team down. We need to find out what they're doing," Kirk said, standing up and walking up to the helm console. He leaned over Chekov to look at the ship's navigational readout. "Show me the energy readings, please," he said.

"Yes, keptin," Chekov replied, quickly pulling up their scans of the planet. Sulu glanced over to take a look for himself, but quickly found himself distracted when he saw the captain's hand on the ensign's shoulder, as they examined the screen. "It is on ze northern continent… We cannot be more specific from zis range," he explained.

"Adjust our course to come in for a southern orbit," Kirk ordered, giving Chekov's shoulder a squeeze as he returned to his chair.

"Aye," Chekov replied, smiling as he fed new data into Sulu's helm console. "Course adjusted."

"Altering heading; now on course captain," Sulu replied. The tension on the bridge made the next 27 minutes go by incredibly slowly, as all of them imagined what Orions could want with a planet full of primitives; the easy answer was slave labor for their various syndicate operations, but they all hoped for something a little more benign.

"Now entering Pergamon system, captain," Sulu announced, as the ship dropped out of warp.

"Southern orbital approach, Chekov," Kirk ordered. With careful plotting, the ship entered an elliptical orbit of the planet, that would take them over the southern continent, to avoid detection until they could get a better idea about what exactly was down there.

"I have isolated the energy reading to a mountain range on the northern continent. It is an uninhabited area of the planet, surprisingly," Spock reported from the aft science station. "Magnesite in the soil is preventing me from localizing the signature, but I have it narrowed down to a 10 kilometer radius."

"Good enough. We'll need a bigger landing party, then. Sulu and Uhura will each lead security teams, and I'll take a third," Kirk said, standing up from his chair.

"Captain, you will not be able to beam directly to the search area, nor will your communicators work within the area of influence of that ore," Spock reminded him.

"I know what magnesite is, Spock," Kirk replied, with something of a grin. "We'll send someone to physically leave the area and check in every 20 minutes," he added, heading towards the lift. Chekov caught his eye and he stopped, hesitating for a moment. "Chekov, you're with me. You'll be the fastest at making those reports," he ordered.

* * *

The terrain was rough and the search for the Orion energy signature proved to be incredibly tedious in the mountains. They found themselves searching cave systems for hours on end, with little luck, but the Enterpise continued to tell them that the energy reading hadn't moved. Eventually, Kirk had had quite enough of the wandering.

"Okay, we're splitting up. I'll take Chekov. You two pair up and search the next two caves, while we look in this one. We'll meet back here in 10 minutes, and then send our check in," Kirk ordered, throwing up his hands as he led Chekov into yet another cave system.

"Yes, captain," the security officers responded, before going to carry out their orders. Chekov smiled at him as they entered the cave, and he turned on his wrist flashlight again.

"At least I have you to entertain me," Kirk said, as Chekov scanned the first room of the cave. He hugged him from behind, resting his chin over his shoulder and looking at the readings. "What's that?" he asked, when the device began to blink.

"It's here. Ze Orion signature," Chekov replied; Kirk's blood ran cold. "Through the cave." The captain squeezed him tightly for a split second, before letting go.

"We better check it out. Stay behind me," Kirk ordered, unholstering his phaser as they began to walk. He heard Chekov do the same. "On stun," he said, as the crystal frame flipped around to that setting.

After about five minutes, the cavern system opened up, The rock had clearly been shorn open by a disruptor beam, to create what was essentially an open-air hanger. Really, it was more of a crater. A small ship was sitting in the middle, and Kirk pushed Chekov back from the mouth of the tunnel, when he saw a pair of Orions come out of it, and down the ramp. At the foot of the ramp were about a dozen cages, each containing a scared, primitive-looking humanoid; the Orions were both heavily armed. Another pair left the ship, and based on its size, there were still likely more.

Kirk and Chekov quickly left the cave system to meet back up with the rest of their team, and Kirk turned to the Russian ensign with new orders. "Go tell the Enterprise to send reinforcements, and then beam back up," he said, sternly. He was not about to bring him into a firefight, not with the Orions in such an entrenched position.

"But—"

"No buts. Go," Kirk ordered. Chekov looked at him with a challenging expression for a split second, before biting his lip, nodding, and then running towards the communications free zone.

* * *

Chekov was out of breath, by the time he'd gotten into the area that he'd be able to use his communicator again. In the distance, he could already here phaser blasts being exchanged, and his heart wrenched itself up with fear, not for himself but for Kirk.

"Chekov to Enterprise! We have found ze Orion vessel, and we require immediate reinforcements!" Chekov said, after flipping the small device open.

"Acknowledged. I will beam down with another security team," came Spock's reassuringly-calm voice. Chekov was about to mention his orders to beam back up, but didn't. He couldn't. How could he leave Kirk? It was only about 45 seconds before Spock was standing in front of him with a security team.

"Zis way," Chekov said, before running in the direction of the firefight, back towards the cave that they had found. An Orion scouting party had found Kirk and his team outside the cave, while on patrol. They were pinned down behind some rocks, with the other teams nowhere in sight. Chekov took aim, and nailed one of the burly Orion males in the chest with a stun blast, while the rest of his team took out the other two.

"We received your signal, Captain," Spock reported, as the reinforcing group of security officers secured the entrance to the cave. "It is now likely that we know we are here," he added.

"Yeah, I kinda figured," Kirk replied, reaching for a device on his belt. He pointed it straight up and it emitted a burst of fire and light, a flare that had been specially designed to linger in the air for quite a while. "They're taking slaves, Spock. It looks like they've built themselves some sort of hanger…," the captain said, turning to put the device on his belt and then seeing Chekov. "What's he doing here?" he asked.

"You brought Chekov on your team."

"I ordered him back to the Enterprise," Kirk said; Chekov's heart froze for a moment, when he saw the look of anger on Kirk's face; he'd never been on the receiving end of that before. "Ensign Murphy, take Mister Chekov with you back to the Enterprise," he said, turning to one of the security guards who was part of his original team, before returning his gaze to Spock and beginning to discuss battle strategy.

Chekov stood and followed the other ensign, totally shocked as they walked back to the beam in point. He couldn't have felt lower, if Kirk had punched him in the stomach. He knew that he wasn't the best fighter on the ship, but he hadn't been given a chance, even after taking out one of the Orions himself. He'd had his one shot with Kirk, and had blown it before 48 hours had even passed. When he beamed back aboard, he went straight to the bridge, where Commander Scott was in command of the Enterprise.

"Finally! A bridge officer," Scott said, standing up. "You have the damn conn. I'm going back down to my engines," he said, clapping Chekov on his shoulder. He looked about to leave, but he paused and looked Chekov up and down for a second. "What's wrong, laddy?"

"Keptin Kirk is angry wiz me," Chekov managed, frowning as he looked at the command chair, but instead took his traditional place at the navigation console.

"Laddy, that man has never been angry at you. You're his favorite. I'm sure it'll all be fine… Whatever it is," Scott said, with one of his kind smiles, before leaving the bridge. At that moment, Chekov would have liked to have believed it, but he just couldn't.

* * *

Phaser blasts from both sides of a pitched battle rang out through the Orions' hanger area. Starting with approximately even forces, Kirk's security officers were superior only in training in technology to the slavers. With careful aim, Kirk himself hit one of the female Orions in the head with a stun blast, as Spock took down a pair of her guards. Still angry from having to send Chekov away, Kirk found himself falling easily into the combat routine, something that he'd not had to do since the fight with Kahn.

It was like riding a bike, though, and his protective instincts turned him into a very dangerous opponent. Even though Chekov was miles above the planet's surface, he saw the green blasts of alien phasers and imagined him at the other end of one. The thought was enough to make his blood boil. He wasn't really angry at the young ensign; he understood the desire to jump right into things, but he'd never expected that kind of disobedience from him. He was nothing if not loyal, after all. Had sleeping with him undone that?

"All enemies down, captain," Spock reported, after shooting another one of them in the chest. The ground was littered with their unconscious bodies, one Orion for each Starfleet officer. The Vulcan walked over to inspect the cages. "Captain, these beings are Vulcanoid."

"Vulcanoid?" Kirk asked, coming over to look with him; they had unmistakably-pointed ears and pronounced foreheads. "How is that possible?"

"Unknown," Spock responded, simply, as he opened one of the cages. "They have been tranquilized. We should return them to the Enterprise," he said. "In this case, the prime directive allows for us to correct interference done by an outside force, if that force is hostile to the Federation, and said interference would have been illegal for a Federation starship to commit," he explained, before Kirk could even ask.

"You think you can fly an Orion ship, Sulu?" Kirk asked, thinking about how they would get a dozen slaves and even more prisoners back to their own ship.

"I've always wanted to try, captain," Sulu responded.

An hour and a half later, Chekov was standing in front of the captain's desk, flanked by Spock. The Captain's uniform had several burn marks on it, and he was covered in dirt from fighting in the cave. His face still had the unmistakable expression of anger on it, and it made the young navigator want to curl up into a ball and cry; he was having trouble not doing the latter.

"Mister Chekov, I ordered you to return to the Enterprise after summoning reinforcements. Would you like to explain why you disobeyed that order?" Kirk asked, in a level tone.

"I am sorry, keptin. I heard phaser fire, and wanted to make sure Commander Spock could find you quickly. I was concerned for your safety," Chekov responded, looking down at his feet.

"I am sure Spock could have found me, by running towards the gunfire," Kirk said, shaking his head. "Chekov, you're not a security officer. You're too valuable to risk in a firefight," he added, in a slightly milder tone. "No offense, Spock," he added, looking towards the Vulcan scientist.

"None taken, as usual, Captain," Spock replied.

"I have training," Chekov replied, his voice completely downtrodden.

"When you are given an order, Mister Chekov, the captain needs to trust you to be able to follow it," Spock supplied. "Your credentials are secondary to your obedience, in this circumstance."

"Yes, commander," Chekov replied, immediately.

"Scott to Kirk. We have the Orion vessel aboard, but I cannae make heads or tails of its computer," came the voice of the ship's engineer, before Kirk could continue. The captain hit the intercom to reply.

"Thank you, Scotty. I'm sending down Spock to help," he said, nodding at Spock as a means of dismissal. Chekov found himself even more nervous alone with Kirk, as Spock exited into the corridor. "Pavel… You scared the shit out of me," Kirk said, moving around to lean on the front of his desk.

"I am sorry, keptin. I… I don't know what came over me," Chekov replied, eyes still unable to look him in the face. "You're right. I am not good like you and Mister Spock are…," he said. "I just wanted to protect you."

"You're a brilliant navigator, scientist, and engineer, Pavel," Kirk said, his voice almost back to normal, as he got closer. He lifted his chin up with his fingers to look in him in the eyes. "But I can't put you in danger. I can't let you charge into a firefight, with only basic Starfleet Academy combat training," he explained.

"Yes, keptin," Chekov replied, feeling even worse when he looked into Kirk's perfectly-blue eyes. "I should not have risked our friendship, like this."

"You haven't."

"You are wery angry with me," Chekov said.

"Captain Kirk is angry at Ensign Chekov. Jim isn't mad at Pavel," Kirk corrected, lifting the young ensign's spirits a little bit. He grabbed Chekov's hands, and pulled him over to sit next to him on the black leather sofa in the corner of the office. "When we're… together, like we were last night, we're equals. When we're on duty, I need to know that you'll follow orders," he said, softly.

"I will. I promise," Chekov replied. "Please, though… I want to be treated like ze rest of ze crew. Teach me to fight like you do, so you won't have to send me away," he said, after a moment of thought. This time, it was Kirk's turn to look conflicted.

"I guess it's not fair for me to be able to order you to run away, when I can always charge to your rescue, is it?" Kirk admitted, throwing his head back on the couch. "Can't it just not be fair, though?" he asked, with a grin.

"Please, Jim. I want to be a hero, like you," Chekov replied.

"You are a hero," Kirk responded. "You've saved everyone on this ship at least half a dozen times," he added.

"I got ze commander's mother killed, you irradiated, and just risked a security operation," Chekov replied, looking at his feet again.

"Pavel… Those first two were not your fault… At all… Like I keep telling you," Kirk replied, pulling him in for a hug. He sighed, and looked down at Chekov. "I'll teach you to fight… Well, I'll probably have Uhura or Sulu teach you to fight, since I wouldn't want to hit you or anything… Deal?"

"Deal," Chekov responded, hugging him back, and then standing. "I should get back to the bridge. People will start to wonder," he said. "Will I still see you tonight?"

"Yeah, unless you've found someone better," Kirk replied, also standing. He put his hands on his hips and brought him in for a kiss. "Walk with me to sickbay, though. They can miss you on the bridge for a few minutes longer."

* * *

Sickbay was quite a busy place, as Kirk and Chekov walked in. Doctor McCoy was examining one of the natives on the room's central table. She looked to be about Chekov's age, though distinctly Vulcanoid.

"This is the craziest thing I've seen in a long time, Jim. These people are only 1% distinct from Vulcans, genetically. For all intents and purposes, they're the same species," the doctor said, as Kirk entered his field of vision.

"How is that possible?" Kirk asked.

"Beats me. We know the Romulans and Vulcans are the same species, though," McCoy replied. "No idea why these guys have barely figured out the wheel, but maybe it's a similar deal."

"Are zey okay?" Chekov asked. McCoy hadn't noticed him behind Kirk, and the doctor smirked as a metaphor regarding Chekov's similarity to a puppy entered his mind.

"Yeah, they're fine, just sedated," McCoy responded. "Well, I mean, they are pre-agricultural individuals, so their diets could be better, but they're fine relative to that,' he added, nodding to the vitals readings on the wall. "The real question is what to do with them, now."

"Can you wipe their memories, Bones?"

"Sure. Though, without a frame of reference, it'll be hard to do it without getting more than we need," the doctor responded, scratching his head. "I'll see what I can find out, though. Maybe New Vulcan has something we could use."

"Keep at it, Bones," Kirk said, turning to leave.

"Keptin. You are forgetting something?" Chekov said, staying put.

"Nope, don't think so," Kirk replied, with a grin.

"I knew I liked this kid. Nurse, get me a scanner for the captain!" McCoy said, with a bit of a chuckle, as Chekov led him over to one of the spare biobeds. "Don't be such an infant," he added, having been handed the tricorder. "What's the rule, Jim?"

"I get shot at, I get scanned," Kirk responded, looking at the device with major amounts of distrust. "He technically got shot at, too," he said, pointing to Chekov. The boy obediently hopped up onto the bed, next to Kirk.

"Would it help if I held your hand, keptin?" Chekov offered, in a voice that was falsely sweet even for him.

"Don't make me puke, you two," McCoy said, shaking his head, as the captain took the young Russian's hand.

"That sounds like a fun game," Kirk said. "Is kissing allowed during scans?" he teased.

"Not in front of my nurses," the doctor replied, finishing Kirk's scan and quickly examining Chekov. "Get out of my sickbay before you two get hormones all over everything," he added, shaking his head at them again. "That man works fast," he muttered to himself, as he watched them leave and Kirk reached over to goose Chekov's ass.

* * *

As work continued on the Orion spacecraft in the hanger bay, Kirk and Chekov kept their plan to meet in the ship's recreation room. It was a large space with all kinds of games, from shuffleboard and arcade games to chess and spaces for cards. After some deliberation, Kirk challenged Chekov to a game of traditional, two-dimensional chess.

"You're not a chess prodigy, too, are you?" he asked, as they started.

"I am Russian," Chekov responded, gleefully. That, it turned out, was enough of an answer to the question. In actuality, Chekov was a Grand Master, but Kirk had not read that part of the younger man's service jacket. He discovered it first hand, though, when Chekov had him beat in about ten moves.

"Best two out of three?" Kirk asked, simultaneously disappointed with himself and impressed with Chekov's intellect.

"What do I get, if I win?" Chekov asked, toying with Kirk's queen.

"You said I have a cute butt. How 'bout that?" Kirk said, leaning across the table to be sure that only he could hear that. He grinned widely as Chekov's gray eyes doubled in size and his jaw dropped.

"I, um, sure, yes," Chekov said, dropping the chess piece. Kirk checked him out obviously, as they started to reset the board; he imagined that he could be a pretty intense top, with as much time as he spent running. Fast, but intense. "What do you get if you win?"

"Your butt," Kirk said.

"You will get zat anyway. Pick somezing else," Chekov said, shaking his head.

"Hmm… Russian lessons?" Kirk asked. Chekov gave him a look; it was obvious that he was setting it up so that Chekov won either way, but he didn't try to argue.

"Deal," the young ensign responded, as they started their second game. That game, too, was over quite quickly, as was the third. "Commander Spock almost beat me ze other day, if it makes you feel any better," he said.

"He almost beat you?" Kirk asked, incredulously.

"To be fair… Is not a Vulcan game," Chekov replied, blushing.

"Let's adjourn somewhere more private to talk about prizes," Kirk said, winking as he stood up. "I was kinda playing to lose," he added, as they left the recreation deck.

* * *

Once the doors to the turbolift closed, Kirk put his hands on his hips and pulled Chekov in for a kiss. Chekov blushed, but didn't resist, putting his arms around the captain's neck. Thankfully, it was a short ride, and they were able to keep their hands off each other long enough to get down the crowded corridor. Once inside Kirk's suite, they stumbled into the bedroom, kicking off clothes as they went. By the time they were back in the bed they'd started the day off in, they were totally naked.

"I was serious about letting you top me, if you want to," Kirk said, on a break between kisses. "I don't usually bottom, but… I would for you," he said, nuzzling the boy's face. "I'd be a pretty bad teacher, if I didn't show you everything."

"I zink I would like zat… If you would," Chekov replied, nervously. He'd never imagined that, not in two years of thinking about Kirk's body. In his fantasies, Kirk was always the one in control. It was a scarier proposition, having to be in control, being responsible for Kirk's pleasure, and making sure not to hurt him. Despite that, the idea of getting inside him had him rock hard.

"I think you would, too, Pasha," Kirk replied, kissing him hard, as he pulled the younger man on top of him. Chekov's tongue went into his mouth, as his hands went down to squeeze large endowment. The Russian dove down to lick down the length of Kirk's shaft, before pulling him into his mouth for a slow blowjob.

Kirk's hands went immediately to the back of his head, guiding his partner onto his erection; clearly he hadn't switched completely to a bottom sort of mode. Chekov lapped eagerly at the pre-cum waiting for him there, managing to swallow a little bit of his cock at first, and then almost half, before finding it to be too much, and moving back to sucking on the head.

Chekov slipped a few fingers into his mouth, getting them wet before experimentally exploring around the outside of Kirk's ass. He received a whimper of anticipated pleasure from the captain, which he took as a good sign to go further. Kirk moaned and bucked into his mouth, when he slipped just his index finger's tip into him.

Kirk's ass was tight, warm, and totally appealing. Chekov inserted a little more, and carefully began probing around. The moans got louder, and he was encouraged to put another finger there.

"You're not gonna break me, Pavel… I've done this before," Kirk said, gently, but firmly, before rolling over onto his stomach to give him better access. Chekov immediately dove in to lick him, in the way that he'd been licked the night before. He was pleasantly surprised when Kirk tasted clean, masculine, and completely delicious, and eagerly lapped at his entrance. "Fuck, eat me," Kirk moaned, pushing his ass back against Chekov's face.

Chekov used his hands to spread open the captain's ass cheeks, and spent the better part of fifteen minutes licking him there, until he was definitely loosening up. By that point, though, Kirk was ready for more, and he made no pretense of hiding it.

"Fuck me, now," he ordered.

"What's ze magic word?" Chekov asked, grinning, as he reached for the lube.

"Fuck me, now, ensign," Kirk corrected, looking back at him with a grin, as he wiggled himself back at him. He got up so he was on his knees, with his back still to Chekov. He reached behind himself to make sure they were both lubed up correctly as Chekov positioned himself. "God, I want you," he gasped, when he felt the head of the boy's cock at his entrance.

They both gasped, as Chekov pushed inside of him. Kirk immediately pushed back onto his dick, groaning loudly as he took him down to the hilt; Chekov was surprised by how fast he'd gone in, thinking about how long it'd taken him to get all of Kirk, even not on the first time.

Kirk's ass fit him perfectly, and he could feel his partner rippling and squeezing him, as he slowly pulled out for his first thrust. His arms wrapped around Kirk's front, with one starting on his nipple, and the other caressing his abs, as he started to thrust into him. At that point, he didn't need to be told what to do anymore or any encouragement to screw him.

His nostrils flared, as he leaned in to bite and lick at Kirk's neck, encouraged by the way he was groaning from being penetrated. It made him feel very masculine to have such a strong, dominant guy moaning for his dick, and he knew he wouldn't be able to last very long with all of that working on his brain.

"Is zis good?" he asked.

"Wery," Kirk replied, slamming back against him. "Harder," he ordered. Chekov responded by pushing him down, so that his head was on the pillow and his ass was in the air, and began thrusting in as hard as he could. Being a runner, he didn't find the pace hard to maintain, but he could feel Kirk's ass seeming to get tighter, warmer, and generally more irresistible, with each additional stroke. "Cum inside me, Pavel," he begged.

How could he refuse a request like that? As he kept fucking, Kirk's words got less and less coherent, especially when he altered his angle just a little, which caused something to generate a moan every few seconds. He reached around to wrap his fingers around Kirk's thick cock, which was slick with pre-cum, and he knew the end was near.

"Jim," Chekov gasped, feeling his balls drawing up to his body. "Fuck, I'm going to cum. Take it," he grunted, not knowing where words like that came from. With only that little warning he felt himself loosing control inside him.

"Yes!" Kirk gasped, his hand joining Chekov's on his cock, and giving it the last little bit of stimulation he needed to make a mess all over the bed. "Damn, we need to play chess more often," he said, as he collapsed down onto his stomach.

"My turn?" Chekov asked, grinning as he pulled out and lay next to Kirk.

"Mm. Yes, but in a minute. We old people have to recharge," the captain responded, grinning as he got on top of Chekov, and leaned down to kiss him. "So, how do you feel about fucking?" he asked, as they slipped into the spooning position.

"I like it," Chekov replied. "I had never even considered it, but… you have shown me ze light," he added, as Kirk pulled the blanket up over them, and kissed him on the neck. "How do you feel about it?"

"I like anything that makes me cum," Kirk replied, squeezing him. "Plus, the whole… dominant cute twink thing is great," he added. He was about to say something else, but the door chime rang. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Kirk asked, throwing his head back. "Who is it?" he asked, hitting a button on the nightstand.

"Commander Spock."

"Is it important?"

"Yes, captain."

"Fine. Come in," Kirk relented. Chekov responded by quickly reaching down to get the comforter to pull up over them, and then hiding under it. He was not in the mood to see Spock again, after their conversation in the turbolift.

"I apologize for interrupting again, Captain," Spock said, coming into the bedroom. His voice belied no concern at all for their nudity, though it was completely concealed by the blankets. "Mister Scott has discovered the location of the Orion base. They are operating out of a multispecies space station approximately 10 light years from our present position. They have approximately forty more slaves from this planet, there."

"Shit," Kirk said, looking up at the ceiling. "Set a course at Warp 8," he ordered.

"Understood," Spock replied.

"Is there anything else that needs my immediate attention?"

"No, sir."

"Then get out, unless you're planning on joining," Kirk said. Chekov's head popped up out of the comforter, looking aghast. Spock's face didn't quite reach that level, but the eyebrow quirk said it all. "Kidding! How often do I get to embarrass both of you at the same time?" he said, with a grin.

"You are a child," Chekov declared, before hiding again.

"I concur with the ensign," Spock replied, before leaving.

"What, you'd prefer Sulu?" Kirk asked, pulling the comforter off, and leaning in to kiss Chekov. "Or Bones?"

"Just you," Chekov said, giggling at those ideas. "Is that okay?"

"I can probably live with that."


	4. Chapter 4 - Exeunt Omnes

Even traveling for almost a week at Warp 8, the _Enterprise_ was still a day away from the system where the Orions had set up the base for their slave ring. It left an uneasy hiatus in their interdiction mission, as the normal routine of the ship resumed, albeit with two sickbay wards full of Vulcanoid primitives in medically-induced comas. The lull in activity during that week had given Kirk and Chekov to test out what dating might be like aboard a starship during normal operations. Though their off-duty time was mainly confined to the night shift, they'd managed to spend most of it together. Even when they weren't in bed together, Kirk just liked being around the younger man, listening to his stories and getting to know him better, but he'd also been pretty pleased to have Chekov wake up in his bed every morning since their first date. Every morning except this one, that is.

Once a week or so, Chekov had command of the bridge during the night shift, meaning that Kirk had to go to bed alone. He didn't realize how much he'd become dependent on his navigator as a hugable, squeezeable bedmate, and it was difficult to fall asleep without him. Eventually, he had to settle for piling up his pillows and hugging them, but it wasn't the same. He woke up tired and cranky, feelings which were only slightly relieved by Chekov's cheerful "Keptin on ze bridge!"

They were able to spend a few minutes going over the night shift and the ship's status, but then Chekov had to take his station and the flirting had to end. While the ship was at warp, there just wasn't that much to do on the bridge, especially for Kirk, but getting to watch Chekov work was reason enough not to just hand the conn off to Spock and nap in his office. Even though he loved his job as captain, he hated actually sitting in the chair unless something exciting was going on. As they closed in on just being a day away from the Orion base, they started receiving telemetry from the ship's long-range sensors and spy drones that Starfleet Intelligence had been kind enough to drop off for them.

Standing at one of the free-standing holographic chalkboards, Spock and Chekov were going over the data and a map of the station, speaking in that elevated, scientific jargon that left Kirk completely in the dark. Resting his head on his hand, he tried to pay attention, but advanced astrophysics was completely out of his grasp, and the two of them were speaking quickly. The captain watched the young Russian twirling a stylus in his slender fingers, before jotting something down excitedly, and then looking to Spock expectantly for approval.

Spock nodded, and added something else to the calculation, making the young ensign grin widely, and then suggest something else. Kirk couldn't help but pout a little, as he watched them. It wasn't very befitting of a captain to pout, and he knew that, but he was becoming quite accustomed to that hopeful, approval-seeking look to be directed towards _him_, over the past few days. More than that, though, he wanted to be able to contribute to the discussion. He was definitely able to keep up with them (and actually surpass them) in _tactical_ ability, but it wasn't at that stage anymore; they already had their basic plan (a team would infiltrate the Orion base using Harry Mudd's ship, posing as slave dealers themselves to locate the slaves; the only problem was beaming them back out, if they were discovered), and it was up to his two geniuses to figure out how to implement it with their fancy space science talk.

Kirk's glance moved from watching Chekov's fingers to examining the way the way his lips seemed to be working especially hard to sound out English consonants, making attractive shapes in the process, and then he began to fixate on the way his uniform trousers clung pleasingly to his petite ass and. He felt petulant as he watched him; he _wanted_ him, and the idea of waiting until after they were both off duty to get to touch him was torturous. He smirked to himself, as he imagined Spock's reaction if he were to just bend the young ensign over the helm and go to town. He doubted very much the Vulcan would be amused, but he was pretty sure his Russian boytoy would enjoy it.

Antagonizing Spock was fun, though; the night he had walked in on them was priceless. He was never able to get a straight answer from his first officer on why he didn't just call him. Maybe he was curious to see what Human mating rituals were like, when they didn't involve a female. Did Vulcans get curious? Surely he'd gained a least some insight on Human behavior from Uhura. What was that even like, though? Obviously, Vulcans had to have sex to keep making Vulcans, but Human sex was oftentimes crazy and unpredictable (at least from Kirk's experience), so how did a logical mind like Spock's work in that arena?

Granted, he'd made Spock choke him from being so angry, so maybe it wasn't so far of a stretch of the imagination as he first imagined. His absent smirk got wider, as his brain wondered what it would have been like if he weren't joking that night, and Spock had joined them. Certainly, there would have been some chemistry. Even though he wasn't very experienced himself, Chekov would be a perfect introduction into the world of Human sexuality; he was pretty, he was affectionate, he was positively, enthusiastically submissive… Did Vulcans like any of that?

What did Spock "like" about Uhura? He knew that he was at some level amused by the lieutenant's quick temper with her captain, and valued her linguistic talents empirically. They'd had some sort of strange student/teacher thing going on at some point, but Kirk never got the exact details; neither of them were inclined to discuss their relationship with him, even with all they'd been through. He always imagined her as something of an animal in the sack; her passion was always right on the surface, and there was no way that all of it went away when her clothes did, not even with a robot like Spock. In the world of James Kirk's imagination, that was the most obvious reason for Spock to like her — crazy awesome sex.

Now _that_ would have been something: what if Uhura'd delivered the message the other night, and she'd been persuaded to show Chekov the ropes of the other side of sex? Kirk tried to imagine it, but couldn't. Maybe he was more unwilling than unable, he realized, as his attention returned to the navigator's posterior. He didn't like the idea of him having sex with anyone else, not even in a fantasy. Not that morning, anyway. He was cranky, he was tired, he was _horny_ and he missed getting to touch his Pasha. He resumed pouting and fantasizing in Chekov's general direction, until a data tablet was thrust in his face by his communications officer.

"What am I looking at, Uhura?" Kirk asked, taking the tablet and starting to read; it took him a few moments to get back into his captainly mystique. His mind was still firmly on Chekov's ass, and now that he had to speak to someone, he found himself uncomfortably hard in his uniform pants.

"The _Lexington_ and the _Seleya_ are standing by to assist, captain," Uhura responded, as Kirk initialed the report. She took the tablet back, and then leaned in to whisper into his ear, "You know, if you keep staring… you'll go cross-eyed."

"Don't you have channels to monitor, Lieutenant?"

Uhura just grinned in response, always pleased to point out an error in Kirk's judgment, before resuming her station. Kirk carefully crossed his legs, to better conceal what was still happening south of his belt. He rested his hands on the control consoles built into his chair, and looked out the window for a moment; she did have a point, in that it was probably safer not to stare at Chekov's perfect rear end.

"Yo moyo!" Chekov exclaimed, from where he was working; Kirk had picked up that it basically was the Russian version of "eureka."

"Captain, I believe Ensign Chekov and I have a solution to our extraction problem," Spock announced, standing in front of Kirk with his arms crossed behind his back.

"Lay it on me, gentlemen."

"We have found a way to beam zrough zeir shields, keptin!" Chekov responded, excitedly, gesturing to the board they had been working on. Hoping that his tight underwear would contain any… visible signs of his condition, Kirk hopped up to join the two scientists at the console. Standing next to Spock, he could more clearly see the layout of their target: it was a conglomeration of Orion, Nausicaan and assorted aliens' technology, assembled into a crude, labyrinthine structure orbiting an ice planet. It lacked any of the grace or symmetry that were hallmarks of Federation design.

"That is not entirely accurate. We have discovered a 1.1 second gap in the shield coverage in every 3 hour cycle of the station's shield systems," Spock corrected, tapping a control to illustrate that particular vulnerability in the Orions' systems. "We have observed it several times, now. Enough to make a conclusive pattern."

"1.1 seconds isn't enough to complete a transport cycle," Kirk noted, crossing his arms. He knew that they had a solution, otherwise they wouldn't have called him over. He just needed them to know that he knew a simple fact about transporter technology.

"Yes. We will have to start ze transporter cycle before ze window opens," Chekov explained, twirling the stylus in his fingers again. "It would be impossible to do zis to beam up ze team, so we would have to send someone in to disable ze generator."

"You… you're wanting to beam someone… at an energized shield?" Kirk said, slowly.

"Correct, captain. We are very confident in our calculations," Spock replied, as if that did not sound like an insane plan. If they were off, the shields would interrupt the transporter beam, and whoever was beaming over would be killed.

"Ze primary team can continue on in ze trade wessel, while _Enterprise_ deploys second team at appropriate moment," Chekov enthused.

"Okay. Say you can get past their shields. How do we get close enough to get an accurate sensor lock?" Kirk replied, looking at both of them with an appropriate amount of skepticism.

"We will warp directly over a nearby planet's magnetic pole… If we are wizin 100 kilometers of the surface, we should remain undetected. We will, um—," Chekov started, looking to Spock and making hand gestures that Kirk didn't understand.

"—Piggy-back, ensign," Spock supplied. Kirk was momentarily amused that the Vulcan had to remind Chekov of the English idiom.

"We will zen be close enough to piggy-back ze transporter target acquisition data from the infiltration ship, for transwarp beaming. Any furzer away, and ze data would have too much lag, and our active scanners might alert zem," Chekov explained.

"So, to recap… You're wanting to calculate a warp jump that takes us so close to a planet that we're skimming the atmosphere—"

"Have done, before," Chekov interjected.

"—And then slave the _Enterprise_'s transporters through Harry Mudd's trade ship_, _so you can start beaming someone at raised shields, hoping a hole will open up just in time?" Kirk asked.

"Exactly, captain," Spock replied, as calm as always.

"And whatever incomprehensible calculus you've done to make these plans is good?" Kirk asked, looking at the display and understanding very little, beyond the basic course data being presented. "Why am I even asking? Of course it is," he said, looking between his favorite ensign and unerring first officer, and then returning to his chair. He tapped the intercom. "Senior officers, to the briefing room."

As the bridge crew got up to move towards the turbolift, Chekov gave Kirk a bright smile. In that moment, Kirk realized that he would probably have agreed to any plan the young ensign came up with, to get a smile out of him. Thankfully, Spock was there to keep things logical.

* * *

The conference room favored by the senior staff was located on the same deck as the ship's main bridge, occupying a commanding position on the starboard side of the ship, with sweeping views provided by a huge viewport, like the one on the bridge itself. Chekov followed his colleagues into the room, moving towards the table. Kirk slipped into the room behind him, his hand brushing along Chekov's rear as they went to their seats. The young navigator blushed as he sat down, finding himself looking across the table at Kirk's perfectly blue eyes. That was another reason he didn't mind sitting far away, on the side of the table without a view of the windows: he got to stare at the captain for the whole briefing. Kirk winked at him, eliciting a bright smile and a deepening of the blush.

Chekov wasn't really paying attention as Spock began to reiterate their plan to the staff; he'd already heard it. He was thinking exclusively about Kirk, and the withdrawals he was feeling from not even being allowed the chance to talk to the him in private for over 24 hours. Though he actually liked being in command of the night shift, it would definitely be worth it to trade it for more time spent in James Kirk's bed. He doubted the Vulcan first officer would be willing to alter the duty roster to accommodate an illogical, Human need for intimacy, though.

The explanation didn't take long, as Spock omitted the mathematical details behind it, as few in the room would have any use for that information. Finally, Commander Scott came up with something to say.

"It's like… jumping off of a very tall building head first, through a giant, razor-sharp fan, hoping that you'll be there at that exact microsecond where the blades are aligned just right…," Scotty said, shaking his head, after Chekov and Spock explained their plan to the rest of the staff. "Can't we just, ya know, shoot our way over to the shield generator, from the infiltration ship?" the engineer said, mimicking the motion of firing a phaser with his hands.

"Ze shield generator is located almost 1.14 kilometers from where we believe the slaves are being kept," Chekov replied, nodding towards a map of the station that was floating above the conference table.

"Against an entrenched enemy force, we'd never make it, before they either killed us or killed the slaves," Sulu responded. Chekov smiled at him, pleased to have support from one of his colleagues.

"I don't suppose y'all have thought of just buying them, for real," McCoy interjected, his arms crossed. He'd been silent for Spock's entire presentation, which was a real accomplishment for the doctor. "There'd be a lot less shooting involved."

"That would be a violation of several dozen Starfleet regulations, Federation laws, and interstellar agreements, doctor," Spock responded. "It is likely, also, that the captain's team will only be able to distract them for a short period of time, before it is realized who they are."

"A curse of fame," Kirk replied, with a bit of a smirk. "It's the best plan we've come up with so far. Commanders Scott and Spock will beam as close to the shield generator as we can get them and disable it, while Lieutenants Uhura and Sulu will accompany me for 'negotiations.' We'll locate the hostages and then beam out," he added. Chekov's heart sunk for a moment, at being left out. He guessed that Kirk was still displeased with his performance on Pergamon IV. Sulu looked over at him, with an empathetic expression, before Kirk continued. "Ensign Chekov will remain aboard, in command," he said. Chekov's heart paused for several seconds. Him? In command of the Enterprise? He could barely handle being Chief Engineer, so how would he pull off being in charge of everyone?

"Jim… Are you sure that's such a good idea? No offense, but taking the Enterprise into a possible combat zone is different than night watch," McCoy said. It stung, but Chekov could understand where he was coming from; he wouldn't have wanted a nineteen year-old in charge of the Federation's flagship, either.

"Chekov, besides myself and Mister Scott respectively, is the only one who could plot the warp jump and beam us past their shields, doctor," Spock said, making the ensign smile a little; the commander was the only member of the crew who trusted his scientific proposals completely, except of course the Captain, as he could see past his youth. "With the rest of us gone, Doctor, you would be the ranking officer. Are you asking to assume command?"

"When you put it that way…," McCoy grumbled, trailing off. Chekov was pleased that it was Spock who jumped in to defend him first, not Kirk; the doctor was one of the people he was relatively sure knew that he was sleeping with the captain, and didn't want it to look like that was the reason he'd be left on the ship.

"I thought you'd have learned by now to trust me, Bones," Kirk said, with a little more edge to his tone than he normally had. "Sulu, work with Chekov to get everything timed out," he said, turning to the helmsman. "Uhura, inform the Lexington and Seleya of our plan," he added.

"Aye," the two officers said, together.

"Based on present speed and the interval of the transporter windows, it would be ideal to launch the trade ship in 21 hours," Spock stated.

"You heard the man, people. Get full department status reports, and be ready to move tomorrow morning," Kirk ordered. "Dismissed."

The senior staff began to file out of the briefing room, but Chekov lingered behind. The door hissed closed, leaving him alone with Kirk. He stood up from his chair, and walked over to the expansive windows on the aft side of the room, prompting Kirk to follow and hug him from behind.

"Is big ship," Chekov noted, pressing himself back into the hug as he looked out over the ship's saucer section. With a crew of over 1,100, the Enterprise and her younger sisters were the largest ships in the fleet. He couldn't imagine being in command of that. "So many people."

"You're gonna do fine. Bones is just being Bones," the captain replied. It sounded like a platitude, but still… Kirk didn't trust his ship with many people.

"I missed you," Chekov offered, not ready to talk about the mission. He needed time to process what it meant to be responsible for so many lives. It was easier to just think about Kirk's reassuring presence behind him.

"I was thinking about you all night," Kirk replied. "I barely got any sleep without my plyushevogo mishku," he added, nuzzling the back of his head and making him giggle.

"And what did you do when you could not sleep? Play in ze linguistic database?" Chekov asked, turning around to kiss him on the cheek. "Are not teddy bears… plush and… fat?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.

"They're squeezeable and adorable," Kirk corrected, hugging him tight, and leaning in to kiss his neck. "You should know about stuffed animals… I've seen the collection you've got under your bed, mister," he added.

"You have… seen zem?" Chekov replied, his eyes getting wide as a rush of anxiety washed over him. He enjoyed fluffy things, but he doubted that it was socially acceptable to have a collection of stuffed animals as an adult.

"Yeah. When I was looking for my underwear, the other night," Kirk replied, with one of his trademark smirks. "It's pretty cute, actually," he added, running one of his hands through Chekov's curls as they got closer. "Everything you do is cute, though."

"You are making fun of me, keptin."

"Maybe a little, 'cause you're really cute when you blush," the captain replied, before kissing him on the lips. Chekov kissed him back, happy enough to get to kiss him that he could forget his embarrassment. "Lemme make it up to you," he said, between kisses, before pushing him back against the table.

They kissed roughly, as Chekov's hands reflexively went to brace himself on Kirk's chest. He couldn't help but gasp, when Kirk reached down to squeeze his crotch through his uniform pants. As his mouth opened a little bit, Kirk took the opportunity to suck on his tongue, while continuing to squeeze him.

"You haven't gotten off without me, have you?" Kirk asked, with just the right amount of territoriality to his voice to make Chekov shudder.

"N-No, keptin," Chekov responded, fixating on his uniform for some reason as they made out.

"Poor boy… I better take care of you, then. Can't have my favorite ensign creaming his pants on the bridge or anything," Kirk replied, biting at the younger man's ear lobe as he did so. That declaration in itself was enough to make Chekov moan softly, especially the part about being his favorite. After kissing him one more time, Kirk sunk to his knees and his hands went for the buckle of Chekov's belt.

"I zought I was supposed to go help Sulu…," Chekov said, gasping a little as his trousers were pulled down to his thighs.

"Sulu can have you when I'm done with you," Kirk declared. "I need to debrief you privately, first," he added, as he got his fingers under the waistband of the navigator's boxer briefs.

"But… here?!" Chekov exclaimed.

"Captain's prerogative. Lock the door, if you're worried."

Kirk's lips wrapped around him, and he immediately began sucking, to Chekov's delight and consternation. He reached behind himself to press a button that would look the room's entrance, but with the blue-eyed captain's mouth making his toes curl, he ended up pressing a few other things in the process. The track lighting above the table got much brighter, as the window turned itself opaque and the blast shutter slid down over the entrance.

"Jeez. You must like this," Kirk murmured, before redoubling his efforts.

"Da!" Chekov gasped, his hands gripping Kirk's perfect hair, as he felt himself being completely enveloped. Kirk's lips were full and wonderful, a lot more pronounced than Chekov's own thin ones. He'd discovered the his partner seemed to really like giving head, much more than he'd ever fantasized about. Chekov would never complain of course, but he'd always imagined their positions reversed for that sort of thing. He knew he'd get his chance to pay him back, though.

The young Russian let out a deep moan when he felt Kirk's nose poking against his pubic bone and felt his balls resting on his chin. They locked eye contact as Kirk slowly pulled off of him and sucked on the head of his dick, as he reached up to squeeze his balls, and then firmly stroke the shaft. The captain wasn't going for subtlety at all, and when Chekov felt one of his fingers snaking up to tease his ass, he knew that he was pulling out all of the stops to make him cum quickly.

Chekov tried to resist losing control too quickly, but as he looked down at Kirk, still in uniform on his knees in front of him, he knew that it would not be easy. Kirk was always the one that set the pace, he always decided when Chekov got to cum, with clever twists of his hips or special motions of his tongue, and in general much more experience than the navigator had at his disposal.

Kirk let him go for a few minutes with light sucking and teasing, before trying something different. He licked his teeth, and gently rubbed the front of them down the length of Chekov's shaft, giving him a curious, smooth sensation which made his back arch. After that, he wrapped his lips around him again, and began sucking hard. Though he could feel himself getting close, Chekov managed to hold out for a few more minutes; the captain couldn't allow that, though.

Sticking his fingers in his own mouth next to his partner's endowment, he got them slick with spit, before slipping them between Chekov's legs. The Russian boy jumped when he felt Kirk probing him, and let out a long moan when those two fingers found his entrance. Having not been touched in over a day (which had become a long time, to them), that was more than enough.

"Jim!" Chekov shouted, gripping his hair as he felt himself swelling up. Kirk kept his blue eyes fixed on Chekov's grey ones as the younger man lost control, letting a day's worth of pent up energy out in the form of a ground-shaking orgasm. He whimpered softly as his partner eagerly swallowed his cum, and carefully licked him clean, before tucking him back into his underwear and standing up to kiss him.

"Jim? What happened to 'keptin?' You're on duty, mister," Kirk said, grinning as he pulled Chekov's pants up for him and buckled his belt.

"Sorry, sir," Chekov replied, momentarily dazed enough not to get the teasing. His heart was racing, and his legs felt completely useless as the revelation that he'd been awake for over 27 hours slowly caught up with him, combined with the skill of Kirk's blowjob, he was both literally and figuratively drained. Despite that, though, he could feel Kirk's hardness poking him and it sent a pang of lust through his body. "Is zere anyzing I can help you wiz, keptin?" he whispered, grinding against him as they kissed.

"You've gotta get back to the bridge," Kirk said, though he kept kissing.

"Please?," Chekov said, starting to slip off of the table to go towards his knees.

"Believe me, there's nothing I'd like better than to put those pretty lips of yours to good use, and then bend you over this table, but there's not time for all of the things I want to do to you," Kirk said, whispering into Chekov's ear, as he hugged him tight. "Getting you off was enough… for now."

"Tonight?" Chekov asked, as their foreheads came together. He didn't like leaving him hanging, but he didn't feel strong enough to argue with him and there were always more opportunities to pay him back.

"Damn straight," Kirk responded, with a smirk. "I'm making you dinner, we'll watch a movie, and then, well, I think you know what," he said, biting at the younger man's ear again. "Sound good?"

Chekov looked at him, his mouth hanging open for a split second. "Yes, keptin," he whispered, as he slowly returned the grin.

"No distractions. Just you and me," Kirk added, caressing his cheek with the back of his hand, and then stepping back. "So make sure you rest up, after this shift," he said, as he opened the door and returned the other controls to normal on the table.

"I do not zink zat will be a problem," Chekov replied, yawning a little as they started to leave the room. "You may wish to delete ze security recording," he whispered.

"Nah. I think a BJ like that needs to be in Starfleet's records forever," Kirk replied, smirking as they rounded the corner. "I'll be done at 1700. See you then?"

Chekov just flashed him one of his sweet smiles, before the doors to the bridge opened, and he stepped in to take his station back from the relief navigator. As tired as he was and as drained as he felt, his tryst with the captain made him all smiles as he got to work timing their plan out exactly with Sulu.

* * *

With a bottle of red wine requisitioned from the galley and a single, red rose from the botany lab in hand, Kirk chimed the door to Chekov's quarters. His favorite ensign had been nearly asleep by the time he left the morning shift to sleep off almost a day of being on duty, but it was now dinner time and Kirk was finally free to spend some time with him. He needed it, too. After a long day of complicated planning and approval-seeking from Starfleet Command, he wanted a few hours where he could just focus on his bright, bubbly Russian playmate. He was craving it, and their tryst in the conference room wasn't nearly enough. Unusually, Chekov did not immediately spring up to answer the door, so Kirk chimed again. After a third time, he began to get worried. A quick check of the access panel next the door showed that the quarters were empty.

"Locate Pavel Chekov," he said, pressing another button on that panel to activate the computer's location software.

"Ensign Pavel Chekov is in the Captain's Cabin," the computer reported crisply, showing no sign of understanding the significance of that statement, any question why an ensign would be alone in the captain's quarters, or any hint of impropriety at why the captain wanted to know with wine and a rose in hand where a 19 year-old ensign was.

"I think I like where this is going," Kirk said to himself, smiling as he turned to return to the turbolift. A minute or so later, he walked into his own quarters, not sure what to expect. All of the rooms were dark, except for the starlight streaming in through the windows. He turned the lights on low in the living room, and sat the wine down on the coffee table, before going into the bedroom.

As the door closed behind him, he found Chekov slumbering in the middle of the giant bed. True to form, it had been made, and all of his clothes had been picked up off of the floor. Cuddled up to a stuffed version of a Vulcan sehlat, Chekov was laying on his stomach on top of the comforter and the blanket, dressed in one of Kirk's gold uniform shirts that was much too big for him, and barely anything else; whatever underwear he was wearing left his rear completely exposed.

"Hey there," Kirk whispered, crawling up the bed on top of him, as he leaned down to kiss his neck, causing him to stir. "Get lost on the way back to your own quarters?" he teased, nuzzling him.

"I… could not sleep in my own bed, so I came here," Chekov responded, quietly. He reached out to turn on the bedside lamps with the control built into the nightstand. "I should have asked, first."

"No, I'm definitely okay coming back to half-nakedness in my bed," Kirk replied, kissing him. Chekov tasted minty and clean, and the kiss was enough to fully wake him up. "Did you get cold?" he asked, tugging at the uniform, which he recognized as having worn the day before from the small electrical burn on one of the sleeves.

"I, um… Well… it smells like you," Chekov responded, blushing. "It helped me fall asleep."

"Really?" Kirk replied, looking at him.

Chekov nodded.

"It looks good on you," the captain replied. "So does this," he added, his hand moving down to snap the side band of what he could now tell was the younger man's jockstrap. "You're the last person I would have expected to own one of these," he said. By the way it fit him so closely, it was obvious that Chekov hadn't also borrowed that from his closet.

"I zought you might like it," Chekov replied, though he offered no explanation for why he'd have a garment like that. Kirk new that Chekov definitely had the capacity to go beyond the innocent routine he put on outside of bed, but maybe it was just that: a routine. A jockstrap wasn't exactly the most practical thing in the world, for anything other than showing off one's ass.

"I _do_," Kirk replied, kissing the side of his face. "Who's this?" he asked, squeezing the stuffed animal that Chekov was still holding.

"Surak," Chekov replied, with a small smile as he handed it to Kirk.

"You cuddle with the father of Vulcan philosophy?" Kirk replied, wrinkling his nose a bit as he hugged him more tightly and looked at the small toy. It certainly looked a lot fluffier than he ever imagined the real Surak to be, or really any Vulcan.

"Next best zing to Spock," Chekov replied, rolling over to look at him, with a grin on his thin lips.

"Take zat back," Kirk ordered, the stuffed animal falling to the side.

"Nyet," the navigator replied, laughing as Kirk reached under his shirt to scrape his nails down his sides. He was wracked with spasms of laughter, and Kirk's limbs had him totally secured, when he tried to escape. "I'm sowwy," he gasped, when the tickling didn't abate.

"Sorry isn't gonna cut it, mister. You've been naughty," Kirk replied, pulling his head back when Chekov tried to kiss him. "Impersonating a captain," he said, tugging at Chekov's tri-banded cuffs, "and lusting after the first officer… Very naughty. I might have to spank you," he whispered.

"What is 'spank?'" Chekov asked.

Kirk replied by sitting up and pulling the navigator across his lap, and then giving him a playful slap on his exposed ass. Chekov giggled a little, prompting Kirk to give him another light slap. He could see his toes curling and felt his breath quickening in that position.

"How else will you punish me?" Chekov asked, turning his head to lock his grey eyes onto Kirk.

"I'll make it up as I go along," Kirk said, grinning, as he pulled off his own uniform top and undershirt, and then helped Chekov to wriggle out of the one he was wearing. With those safely tossed over the side of the bed, Kirk was left in his

s, with Chekov just in an incredibly-revealing black jock. "This… this almost excuses any crime you may gave committed," he said, caressing Chekov's thigh, and snapping the band again. "I can't think of a better way to end a hard day of captaining than to have a naughty ensign across my lap," he added, with another gentle slap to his ass.

"Day was hard, or you were?" the younger man asked, still laying obediently where Kirk had placed him.

"A little of both," Kirk replied, chuckling and running his hands up and down Chekov's skin lightly, touching him just enough to make him squirm. His skin was completely immaculate and soft, while Kirk's hands were a little rougher. He didn't exactly do manual labor for a living, but he'd had his share of that sort of thing growing up, so they weren't exactly baby soft.

Chekov squirmed on his lap, gasping occasionally as Kirk barely touched him, just brushing against the tiny, invisible hairs on his skin. That was enough, though, as nice as the view was, Kirk needed to see his eyes.

"Sit in my lap," Kirk said, with one last swat to his butt.

The younger man complied eagerly, wrapping his arms around Kirk's neck as he did so, and leaning in to plant a soft kiss on his lips. They lingered there for a moment, savoring a longer kiss than had been permitted earlier. Kirk didn't try to slip his tongue past Chekov's lips, but just allowed himself to enjoy an innocent, honest kiss from him.

"You taste good," Kirk whispered, brushing one of his curls off of his forehead, as he looked at him. Chekov was beaming, and that made Kirk smile. It was impossible to be sad or upset in a room that contained a happy Pavel Chekov; his feelings were absolutely infectious. As he looked further down, he saw a red mark on the younger man's chest.

Reaching out carefully with his fingers, he traced the outline of a Starfleet chevron on Chekov's left pectoral muscle. With a quizzical look, he rubbed it gently, before it clicked. Where their uniform shirts (well, really both of them were his) were piled up on the floor, he could see the shining silver badges.

"Is my mattress really that hard?" Kirk whispered, continuing to trace that pattern, a mark left from the badge having been pressed up against his chest for too long.

"Uniform shirt is not designed to be worn alone, I zink," Chekov responded, looking a little embarrassed. That reaction confused Kirk a little, as he leaned in to plant a kiss on it.

"It's actually kinda hot," Kirk admitted; he liked when he marked Chekov lightly, even if this particular instance wasn't something he'd done himself, it'd come from his uniform. He added a little bit of teeth to his kissing, making Chekov squirm again. "Now I'm gonna think about how I should punish you, though," he added, with a grin.

"Perhaps naughty ensign could… help ze keptin out, after a long, _hard_ day?" Chekov suggested, reaching down to squeeze Kirk's crotch, with a sweet grin.

"Sucking my dick really isn't exactly a punishment for you, is it, though?" Kirk asked, with a bit of a laugh. "I mean, you are _particularly_ naughty," he added.

Chekov shook his head vigorously. "Please? Might clear your head, to figure out what to do wiz me. I promise I'll be good," he whispered.

"Oh, I know you'll be _good_," Kirk stated, before giving him a look of permission which he intended to be nonchalant. He just managed to peck him on the lips before Chekov slid off, and began working on unbuckling Kirk's pants. Fortunately, Starfleet-issue equipment wasn't complicated, and they came off quickly. The captain's black trunks were straining, but they weren't an impediment for long and soon joined his pants on the floor.

As eager as Chekov was, he had a very different style for giving head than Kirk did. While Kirk was generally concerned with eliciting as much squirming and moaning as possible, with the goal of making his partner surrender control as soon as possible. Chekov, on the other hand, was much more cautious, more sedate, and treated Kirk's endowment as something fragile, something to be worshiped. He had, however, definitely picked up one trick from him: eye contact.

As Kirk arranged the pillows behind himself and settled in, his fingers clasped behind his own head, Chekov locked his grey eyes on Kirk's blue ones, kissing his way down his captain's body until he was eye-level with his crotch. The younger man leaned in to kiss the head of his dick, licking gently and sending shudders of pleasure up Kirk's spine. Grinning when Kirk gave him an approving gasp, he licked down the shaft, stroking it as he kept going to mouth his balls.

As he licked, and sucked, and then began carefully swallowing Kirk's erection, Chekov kept his eyes fixed on him, with a needy look on his face. With about half of Kirk's thick cock in his mouth, which was about as much as he'd been able to handle so far, he looked like there was no place in the universe that he'd rather be, or activity he'd rather be doing. His insistent sucking said it, his look of combined lust and bliss said it, the way he was trying to get more and more into his mouth said it. The hottest thing about getting a blowjob from Pavel Chekov was not the warm, wet, slickness or the way his pretty lips looked stretched around a big dick, but the way the young Russian moaned around his dick, making it clear that he was getting just as much pleasure out of it, if not more, than Kirk.

"So good, Pasha," Kirk managed, gasping at some particularly-powerful suction. It was a major struggle not to thrust up into his mouth, not to give him more than he could handle. Chekov softly groaned his appreciation of the compliment, as he continued to suck on him. His ass was up in the air, as he worked to give himself the best possible angle to blow him, or maybe it was in the air to make Kirk stare at it. Time seemed to stop as Chekov worked him up to toe-curling pleasure, lapping at him eagerly, seeing to every inch of his dick, and it took him quite a while to work up the strength to stop him.

Kirk simultaneously pushed him off and gave his shoulders a grateful squeeze, as he sat up. He rolled over him, and wrapped him up in his arms, planting sloppy, grateful, needy kisses on his neck. With Chekov's cheek pressed against the bed, he kissed him deeply, pushing his tongue past the younger man's lips, to taste himself on his breath. They both moaned softly as his slick cock rubbed against Chekov's exposed ass, as Chekov gave him another look of absolute _need_. Opening his mouth to say something, Chekov quickly lost his train of thought as Kirk ground against him. He tried again, but Kirk grinned and pressed up to him closely, keeping him completely pinned to the mattress, just short of penetrating him.

"Don't move," Kirk ordered, kissing his way down Chekov's slender back, leaving light bite marks as he went. He couldn't help but growl softly when the younger man lifted up reflexively, as he restrained him gently with his hands. "Shh," he whispered, when the Russian whimpered as he tried to push his skin back against him. "Goddamn," the captain murmurred, finding himself face to face with his favorite ensign's tight, perfect ass, framed by a black jockstrap. He spread Chekov's taught ass cheeks and dove in to lick him.

"Jim…," Chekov gasped, as his partner's tongue began to open him up. Kirk could feel his hips starting to buck, but then he managed to restrain himself. Enjoying the many ways he could make him squirm, he bit gently on one of his cheeks, making him moan loudly, before lapping at his entrance in earnest. His hands went under the straps of the tiny garment that contained the last of Chekov's modesty, stretching it playfully as he ate him out, before letting the bands snap against his skin.

In no time at all, he had Chekov whimpering, mewling, and generally out of his mind with pleasure, as he carefully explored his ass to make sure he was ready. They didn't need to talk about it to know what was going to happen: it had been over a day since Kirk had been inside him, and they needed to fix that. Every tiny noise Chekov made, every shudder as he resisted pressing himself back up against him, and every micrometer his ass yielded for him made Kirk harder. He was leaking precum on his comforter, but he didn't care: until Chekov was totally delirious from his tongue, he wasn't done.

"Mne nuzhno bolshe o vas," Chekov gasped, after a few more minutes of that. It was close. He'd driven English out of his mind.

"What's that, baby?"

"_Bolshe!__" _Chekov replied, while Kirk kept licking him. "_More__… _More of you. I _need_ it," he added, panting. Kirk grinned, as he slipped his tongue in again. He _needed_ to give it to him, just as much as Chekov needed to receive it. He found himself gasping a little in sync with him, responding to every noise of pleasure with one of his own. No girl had ever done that to him. Well, no guy had either, but he had much more experience with women. Chekov totally drew him in, totally made him… needy. No longer was Chekov a pretty face that he could eye lazily on the bridge, and imagine pleasuring; now, it was a necessity to make him feel good. That revelation made Kirk's heart pound.

Kirk slipped a finger into Chekov, eliciting a whimper of pleasure, but also a confusing head shake. He gently fingered him, but Chekov kept shaking his head "no." What had he done wrong?

"Ne paltsulty," Chekov said, shuddering. "Not… fingers," he translated.

Kirk understood. He gave him one last lick before getting up on his knees, and pulling Chekov into a similar position, so that they were both kneeling. He wrapped his arms around him, putting one hand on his chest and one on his taught abs, positioning his cock right at the younger man's entrance, though without pushing inside him. He bit and sucked on his neck, before kissing him softly on the lips.

"I'm gonna fuck your brains out. When I'm done, you're not even gonna remember your own name; just mine," he whispered, moving millimeters closer to entering him. "Sound good?"

"Da!" Chekov replied, whimpering softly as he tried to push back onto him, but Kirk's posture was too rigid for that. That was too much, though. Kirk couldn't resist that much desire, that much _need_ to be filled up and fucked. With a twist of his hips, he was inside him. The head of his cock met the firm, warm, perfect interior of Chekov's ass, eliciting a groan of pleasure from Kirk and a yelp from the younger man. Kirk paused for a few moments, before continuing.

Chekov was tight. Very tight. One day was not long enough to completely get back his virginal shape, but he was nonetheless still a bottom that required a lot of finesse and maneuvering to open up. He was always very careful when he was inside him, and at that moment he couldn't imagine anyone else there, in that position. No one, ever; Chekov was _his_, he decided, as he began to thrust in and out of him, increasing the depth of his penetration with each stroke.

Intertwining his fingers through his curly locks, Kirk pulled Chekov's mouth around for a deep kiss as he got himself completely inside. They both shuddered noticeably, when Kirk's large balls were resting against Chekov's ass. Kirk paused, both to let the younger man adjust, and to see what he did when the stimulation stopped. He heard the Russian word for "full" and the one for "large," as he'd heard several times already, along with a few new ones, that he thought might be curses, before he closed his mouth with another kiss.

Carefully, Kirk lowered Chekov down, so his head was on the pillows, and then raised himself back up to penetrate him more deeply. With his hands on the boy's shoulders, he fucked him slowly, but with a lot of power to each of his strokes. The young Russian groaned, lifting his hips up and pushing back against him with each thrust. Kirk's hands went down to Chekov's hips to help him with that, but only maintained that position for a few minutes. It was certainly hot, but it felt wrong to be with him in such an impersonal position, so he moved down to lay on top of him, planting sloppy kisses on the side of his face as he continued to screw him.

"Jim," Chekov gasped, eyes rolling back as Kirk hit his prostate especially hard. Kirk grinned, and slowed down his pace to be careful to get him right there with each thrust. He loved the way that quiet, unassuming Chekov could be so very vocal in bed, going from gentle moans to screams of pleasure as Kirk tested his most intimate spot without mercy. Even with that kind of pressure, he still tried to thrust back up against him, to increase the friction and get Kirk deeper inside him. He still turned his head to give Kirk an absolute look of need and thankfulness, his grey eyes gleaming.

"Mine… My little Pasha," Kirk whispered, resting for a moment. He flexed his cock inside of his partner, making him moan loudly, before he pulled out. He rolled Chekov over, and carefully slipped off his jock, letting his ultra-hard cock flop free, as he slipped back inside of him. Kirk needed to look Chekov in the eyes, to kiss him as he made him squirm. The significant of his statement became more clear as he locked lips with him again. Chekov wasn't just the best fuck he'd ever had, there was a lot more to it.

Kirk had always liked pleasing people, but he never got off on someone's moans, someone else's needs, like he did with Chekov. Chekov was special, he was funny, he was radically intelligent, he was… lovable. That last one was new and terrifying. He fucked him harder, as the boy pulled him in with his legs. They were both panting as the end was close. From the way Chekov was looking at him, he guessed that he might be lovable to him, too, but… how would that work? Maybe he was able to be loved, but could he really love Chekov like the way he needed? The captain's desire to please him overwhelmed those biting, gnawing thoughts of guilt, of memories of a hundred failed relationships and one-night stands. Chekov could be all his.

"Mine," Kirk repeated, grunting as he thrust in especially hard. "Fuck, I'm cumming," he said, shocking himself, as he lost control. James T. Kirk _never_ came first, not ever, but nonetheless his balls drew up and he felt himself pumping Chekov full of cum.

"J-Jim!" Chekov responded, moaning loudly as Kirk reached down to squeeze his dick. That was all he needed to explode all over his own chest and abs, whimpering and whining as he shuddered from the power of his orgasm. Kirk couldn't help but grinned, pleased with himself, as he smeared cum all over Chekov's skin, tweaking his nipples as he did so, earning another spasm of pleasure from the boy.

Kirk kept his position for several minutes, firmly lodged inside of him as he leaned down to kiss him slowly. Their tongues wrestled lazily, languidly as he took in the feeling of Chekov's still-tight entrance, and the alluring scent of his soft skin. They were both slick with sweat, totally exhausted from the most intense sex of their short relationship. He looked at his favorite bedmate with a look of utter enthrallment, before pulling out gently, much to Chekov's whining, mewling complaints, before collapsing on his back, his arms open for Chekov to join him.

"Zat was… You were… amazing," Chekov managed, as he slipped into Kirk's arms, burying his face into the captain's chest for several seconds, before leaning up to plant a kiss on his lips.

"Babe… It was all you," Kirk said, completely sincerely, as he stroked the boy's cheek. Spying a shock of red on the floor, he stretched out to retrieve the rose he'd dropped when he'd first pounced on his ensign. "I got this for you," he said, with a smile, as he handed it to him. Chekov smiled back, smelling it, as he examined it.

"Zank you," the younger man replied, kissing him again. "What did I do to deserve a rose?" he asked, shyly.

"I l—," Kirk started, but he couldn't get himself to say it. "I like your hair," he finished, lamely. If Chekov picked up on the hesitation, he didn't show it, as Kirk ran his fingers through his sweaty curls.

"I wish it was straight and handsome like yours," Chekov replied, reaching up to perform a similar gesture on Kirk's oft-mentioned perfect hair, which was something in between straight brown and straight blond, and always seemed to be arranged with a precise amount of sex appeal.

"You're perfect already," Kirk said, hugging him tightly.

"You're too nice to me," Chekov said, nuzzling into Kirk's sweaty chest to avoid looking at him. After a moment, he began giggling.

"What?"

"Nozing… It's just, what you said earlier… Little Pasha," Chekov said, looking at him again. "Is a pun. I do not zink you meant it zat way," he added. "Pavel means… 'little,' usually. Pasha means 'Little Pavel.' You said Little Little Little," he explained, when nothing jumped to Kirk's mind.

"Well, you _are_ pretty little," Kirk responded, with a smirk.

"Was big enough for _you_," came the retort, as Chekov kissed his chest.

"True enough. You're not so little," the captain said.

"Don't mind being little, around you, Jim," Chekov admitted. "I like it when you hold me, and… are in charge, and… all of zis," he explained."

"I like it, too, Pavel," Kirk said, beaming. "A lot."

There was a pause, as Kirk petted Chekov's tangled hair.

"You're not seeing anyone else are you?"

"No."

"Good. Me either," Kirk said, his heart pounding.

"Good," Chekov said, hugging him tightly. "You promised dinner and movie… Nap first?" he asked.

"Nap," Kirk agreed, as they both passed out on top of the comforter, sweaty, exhausted, naked, and totally content.

* * *

The next morning, Chekov woke up completely, happily sore. He always woke up first, and he liked to think it was because of the incredible workout that Kirk always got when they were together, which put the captain into a contented, deep sleep. They'd ended up napping for several hours, before having a very, very late steak dinner, and then settling in for a ridiculous old Western movie that Kirk pulled up from the ship's computer. It was a nice reprieve from the mission that now loomed only hours away, but more than that, it was time with Kirk, and that had quickly become the young Russian's favorite thing in the whole universe.

The ensign sat up in bed, twisting around to look out the window, staring into the subspace distortion that propelled the ship foward, as he reached to grab his stuffed animal from the side table, petting it reflexively as he thought about what was about to happen. Pavel Chekov was going to be in command of the _Enterprise_. A _boy_ who still had stuffed animals was going to be the senior officer of the Federation flagship. It was a crazy, ridiculous idea.

He looked down at Kirk still sleeping soundly. Now _there_ was a captain! He had the confidence, the intelligence, and even the looks to pull it off. That cocky grin, the way he sat wide-legged on the bridge as he surveyed his domain, the way he always knew what to do… Chekov just didn't have that. He was a thinker. A fast thinker, but a thinker; Kirk was an actor. How could he be more like him? What would he do if the ship got into trouble? The last time he'd been in a combat situation, he'd been severely chastised for being a hindrance. Still, James T. Kirk didn't trust his ship with just anyone.

Chekov picked up the rose he'd been given, still resting on the nightstand. He liked to think that the captain trusted him for his intellectual prowess… but could some of it be to do with their relationship? Was it just throwing him a bone? He didn't have very long to think about it, before Kirk sat up next to him, and hugged him from behind.

"Pretty awesome present, right?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Yes," Chekov agreed, turning with a small smile to kiss him on the cheek. "Today is ze day."

"Ready?" Kirk asked, nuzzling the side of his face, tickling him with his stubble.

"I… I zink so," Chekov said, but he knew it didn't sound convincing. "I'm a little nervous."

"You'll do fine. Our plan is going to work," Kirk said, rubbing his face along Chekov's neck. "Just do what I would do."

That was the problem, though. Pavel Chekov was not James Kirk, and even getting to know him as well as he had recently, he didn't know how to think like him.

* * *

Mudd's trade ship was a small, interestingly-shaped craft. Resembling the flying saucers of Earth mythology, it was certainly not a vessel of Federation design. Having confiscated it from some traders of ill repute, it made the perfect craft for launching covert missions, like the one the _Enterprise_ and her crew were about to embark on. Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu walked around the craft for the fifth time, to make sure everything was functioning properly. His tricorder chirped happily, telling him that the ship was ready for action. The last time it had been used, it had gotten a little scraped up from Kirk's piloting.

While Kirk was a trained pilot, he'd long since abandoned that field for command, and didn't have quite the same chops that Sulu did in that area. He was eager to take the nimble craft out for a spin, even if it was again into enemy territory. He smiled when Pavel Chekov stepped up to him, from behind one of the ship's landing struts.

"Are you excited?" Sulu asked.

"Excited?" Chekov repeated. "Terrified, more like."

"Hey… You'll do fine. We've all had our shot in the chair. It's only fair it's your turn, now," the helmsman replied, to his friend, referring to his own, Spock's, and Uhura's various stints in the center seat.

"Adwice," Chekov said, apparently nervous enough not to be able to fit that word into a proper question.

"Don't be nervous. Captain Kirk trusts you, and so do the rest of us. Act like the genius you are," Sulu said, crossing his arms. "And don't break anything. Kirk loves this ship," he added, with a grin.

Chekov's eyes got very wide, not hearing the joke on his voice or seeing the smile on his face. "All good ideas," he managed, turning as more people approached the ship. Like Sulu, Kirk and Uhura, along with their security team, were dressed in civilian clothing, which looked especially ratty to sell their backstory as, well, scum.

"Everything ready, Sulu?" Kirk asked.

"We're all set, captain. Launch window opens in 7 minutes," Sulu reported, closing his tricorder. "Let me just finish priming the injectors, and we can get going," he added, moving over to the side of the hull to input a few commands into a Starfleet console that was connected via cables to the civilian ship. Kirk nodded, and motioned for the rest of the team to board. He stayed behind, though, and took Chekov off to the side.

Sulu tried not to look, but how could he ignore Captain Kirk kissing his Chief Navigator behind one of the shuttlebay's support struts? He'd had his theories, but they'd otherwise been pretty good about covering his tracks. It made him grin; he knew Chekov was in puppy love with his captain, so it was fitting that he was finally getting to act on it. Their conversation was short, and Chekov managed a smile as they walked back over, and Kirk went up the ramp.

"I'll bring him back," Sulu said, quietly, as he unhooked the control panel and wheeled it away.

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb. Kirk. Your _boyfriend_. I'll bring him back," Sulu said, crossing his arms again.

"Zank you, Hikaru," Chekov replied, blushing very, very deeply, before turning to leave the shuttlebay.

"Shuttle Bay 2, prepare for launch," came Spock's voice over the comm. Within minutes, the small craft was in space, speeding away from the _Enterprise_ towards their target: the Orion slaver base.

* * *

Doctor McCoy stood beside the command throne on the ship's main bridge, watching as Spock and Chekov completed the final calculations for their warp jump into the system. The captain's shuttle had left almost an hour ago, and so was just about to dock. This coincided with a window in the station's shields almost perfectly, so they had to get into position immediately. He'd felt bad for doubting Chekov's abilities so publicly, but the kid made him nervous. No nineteen year-old should be burdened with what Chekov had been saddled with.

At 17, he not only formulated the plan to let them beam onto the _Narada_ without being detected, but had personally saved Kirk and Sulu from certain death. Not to mention his expert beaming of the Vulcan High Council, excepting of course Spock's mother, a loss that Chekov had never forgiven himself for. A year later, he was Chief Engineer of a massive ship, responsible for the safety of over a thousand men and women, above and beyond the call of duty of his own station. That just wasn't healthy for a teenager. Teenagers should be falling in love, frolicking, and… whatever the hell it was that young people did, those days.

McCoy was sure that he'd gotten at least those first two down, though. Jim Kirk was normally a very bad influence, but it seemed like he was doing okay with the kid. He certainly seemed to have shaken some of his ADD, at least, and that was a start. He couldn't help but wonder if Chekov's latest assignment had something to do with what had obviously been a very strong start to their relationship; he was all Kirk could talk about during their weekly meetings, or dinner, or over coffee, and it was almost annoying. _Almost, _because the conversation was always more about how smart the boy was, or some sweet, small thing he'd done, which was an improvement from the sorts of details that he used to share.

"Helm to Ensign Chekov's command," Spock ordered, to Lieutenant McKenna, the relief helmsman.

"Yes, commander," the lieutenant responded, clearly grumpy; he was much older than Chekov, but he'd never jumped a starship within spitting distance of a planetary atmosphere.

"Execute maneuver, ensign," Spock ordered, placidly.

"Try not to hit anything. Like that planet," McCoy offered, trying to be helpful. Hell, not trying to be helpful, being very damn helpful. He always was, after all.

"Yes, doctor," Chekov responded, turning in his chair for a moment, before looking back at his station. "Zdes nichego ne vykhoditz," Chekov muttered, reaching for the throttle and engaging the warp engines. "Holding course to pre-arranged flight plan. Automatic engine shut down in fifteen seconds," the navigator reported, as the ship jumped to life. The count-down was interminable, but finally the ship emerged back into normal space. The rapid shift in gravity, started pulling the ship down. "45 second thruster burst, initiating," the Russian said, fingers dancing across the console as he brought systems online.

"We're drifting to starboard," McKenna warned.

"Compensating with inertial dampeners and impulse engine driver coil," Chekov replied, pressing more keys, as he watched the readings.

"The bow is too high, ensign," Spock added.

"Compensating!" Chekov replied, almost a blur as he took command of the ship's many flight control systems. "_Yo moyo!_ Geosynchronous polar orbit achieved!" his exuberance radiated, in an infectious way. If he weren't so committed to his role as skeptic and general malcontent, McCoy might have smiled with him.

"Were we detected?" the doctor asked.

"I do not believe so," Spock responded, going over to the science station. "Ensign, we should get to the transporter room. Doctor… You have the bridge," the first officer added, as Chekov stood up from his station. McCoy's jaw dropped. He'd never been left in command before. Were Vulcan's capable of sarcasm?

"I'm a doctor, not a damn captain," McCoy muttered, as Spock and Chekov headed for the turbolift.

"Is simple, doctor. Do not hit ze planet," Chekov suggested, grinning at him as the doors closed.

"Jim's rubbing off on that one, too much," McCoy muttered, slumping into the chair, and then wishing he hadn't used that phrasing. "Uh… Hold position, or whatever," he ordered, rubbing his temples.

* * *

Spock was always a calm, reassuring presence. Well, except that time he walked in on Chekov with Kirk. And that time he apologized for interrupting their "copulation." Those instances did not create the same sense of calm that Spock normally gave off. In the vestibule of the transporter room, Spock and Scott were getting the equipment they would need to sabotage the Orion shield generator. He was watching Chekov with particular interest.

"Ensign, you have developed most of our plan. I anticipate your performance to be satisfactory," Spock said, putting a utility belt on, as Scott packed his engineering kit. That was high praise, from a Vulcan. "In the best case scenario, our work on the station will obviate the need for the _Enterprise_'s direct involvement," he added.

"And in a less than best-case scenario, I think you know how to kick some arse, by now," Scott said, with a bit of a laugh, as he headed for the transporter room itself.

"Indeed," Spock responded. Chekov followed and sat himself down at the transporter console. The window was rapidly approaching. As he looked at the console, he began to realize what a crazy plan it actually was. What if they missed? What if the window was shorter than usual, or didn't show up? He'd be beaming Spock and Scott against an active forcefield, which would kill them.

"Fifteen seconds to activation," Chekov reported. "Are you sure zis will work?"

"Oh, let's not go down this road now, lad," Scott said.

"Wery well," Chekov said, grabbing the joystick. "Prepare for transport," he said, trying to sound calm. He could do this. He had to do this. Lives were depending on him. He was a Russian whizkid after all. "Energizing," he said, at the exact moment the countdown hit zero. He targeted the appropriate area of the station, with telemetry beamed to them from the other team, and the two commanders began to dematerialize on the pad. When they had vanished, the window was a split second from opening, and then suddenly it was there, it was working, and the team was ready to do its demolition work.

Pavel Chekov was now in command of the _Enterprise_. He sat back in his chair for a moment, mouth dry.

"Well… I guess it's showtime," he muttered, before heading in the direction of the bridge.


End file.
